


-THE HUNT IS ON-

by kukinom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Kinda, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Road Trip Adventure, Soulmates, You're Welcome, basically.., because i'm soft for that, but sighting one is like a shootingstar, i can also write stuff that isn't just nasty smut, very rare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26656015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kukinom/pseuds/kukinom
Summary: ''What're you doing here?'' Oh no, Alpha voice. Luckily Stiles was drunk enough to ignore the urge to tell the mortifying truth - that he was actually planning on stealing the guys worn undies for his nest.''Oh! you- what!? You mean- this ISN'T actually my apartment?'' looking around exaggeratedly, flailing his arms for emphasis, Stiles tried to act confused. The Alpha just stands there watching him, unamused.''Why are you here? Who sent you?''''Sent-? No, wait-'' Real confusion makes it's way onto Stiles face until overridden by horror at the sight of the gun now pointed directly at him.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 87
Kudos: 535





	1. to meet

**Author's Note:**

> I have not watched a single Teen Wolf episode in my life (i don't even know what most characters look like) but i did read enough Sterek fanfiction over the years to motivate me into writing THIS!! .*✨¯\\(O` 3'O)/¯✨*.
> 
> I'm a sucker for A/B/O because apparently- i have a problem (¯7¯;)... yea, anyway -  
> no idea how long this one will end up being or how frequently i'll update, i mostly just make the story up as i am writing, so there's that. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

With his eyes glued to the phone slipping in his sweaty hands, nervously waiting for the upload to complete, Stiles runs blindly out of his apartment door and right into a wall - of a man.

Crashing into the stranger with enough momentum he would have probably knocked himself on his ass if it weren't for the other catching him midfall. 

Blinking dumbly at the floor beneath, face too close for comfort- to it and the expatiated piece of gum, it took Stiles a second for his brain to actually catch up with what just happened - only to then immediately malfunction from the sensation of thick fingers shifting and flexing around his waist. 

The guy was still holding him, trying to help Stile's awkwardly rigid body back onto its feet. 

In spite of his shaky knees and still wildly thumping heartbeat, Stiles managed to find his footing again. Rapidly spitting apologies while trying to make sure he hasn't dropped anything of importance - before finally looking up. up. UP. 

because the other guy was so tall Stiles thought his neck would break trying to meet the Alpha's eyes. 

Alpha. yes. One that looked like those guys on the covers of thirsty-housewife-novelas™ that you occasionally find on bargain at the bookstore; not the romantic kind- with the Don Juans in leggings riding white horses along the beach, no. 

The 'don't-fuck-with-me or i'll-fuck-you' type that overheated Omegas like to read. GQ cover model. Tall, dark and broody. Motherfucker is scary but with a face that has Stiles want to sit on all day long- even if those eyebrows gave off so much attitude it's kinda rude. 

The guy's voice snaps Stiles out of his open mouthed stupor. 

''You live here?'' the Alpha asks and Stiles just nods in response. The deep furrow between the Alpha's brows lessened - a minuscule bit, and like the apex Alpha sex god sent from hell just to make Stiles' existense miserable, the guy holds out his hand for Stiles to shake. Stupidly big biceps testing the tensile strength of one tight grey T-shirt, pulled taut over that ridiculous body.

Stiles wants to scream but instead acts like the adult he is expected to be and takes the offered hand in his own. 

Their skin touches and it feels like static shock. Stile's first instinct is to pull away from the zap but the other holds his hand tight, pulling it closer until it hovers right above well defined pectorals. While Stiles just looks perplexed into the man's eyes- the electrifying sensation crawling through his fingers gives way to a pleasant buzz. Nervous hiccuping spasms, like butterflies in his stomach and Stiles has to try really hard not to just start purring at the guy - because both of them can only take so much embarrassment in one day. 

''We're neighbors then,'' letting go of the grasp on Stiles hand and letting him pull away. Mr. handsome points his thumb over one shoulder at the apartment door across Stiles' own. ''means i'll see you around.''

Stiles isn't sure if the guy is flirting or just being a teasing asshole, what he knows is he is blushing regardless, face burning red, like an idiot. 

For the first time in years Stiles wondered- maybe for once he shouldn't have worn his banana pyjama pants to go to the convenience store, and ran down the stairs as if on fire.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

''I'm NOT one of those helpless little Omegas that slip on their own slick. I'm just not, okay? The fact that i haven't been able to say a word to that guy the last two weeks we have been living across from each other is because he's hot like the surface of the sun, not because he's an Alpha.'' 

Stiles takes a sip of his coffee to fuel his rant. ''I might be in pre-heat and have not caught a knot in a while but i'm fine. i'm great. All power to Omegas you know- i don't need an Alpha. I have a great dildo.'' 

Judging by the irritated expressions on his friends faces he concluded they did not much care for his lamentations nor the emotional torment he has been enduring over the past few weeks, or- perhaps it was because the hot next door neighbor was the only thing he talked about lately. 

And because dog-god hated him with a passion, the very cause of his distress, mr. GQ, just appeared in the very same dinky back-alley hipster café he was at right now. Seating himself at a table right in Stiles' line of sight, looking better than anyone was allowed to- sitting on those stacked fruit crates. To make things even worse that sonofabitch had the hottest thing on two legs ever as companion. 

The blonde was so pretty Stiles suddenly had the urge to projectile vomit.

Observing them insistently from over the rim of his mug might not have been as stealthy as he hoped, because Scott noticed, and in typical Scott fashion whirled his head around to see what it was that had caught his attention. Crashing over at Stiles place every other day, he of course would immediately recognize the Alpha.

''Ooh~ what's that i see? competition perhaps?'' 

''Okay, I am definitely no competition. That one is like expensive-escort-hot, solid ten, the kind that only corrupt politician and druglords can afford. I'm like- if you squint hard enough depressed-nerd-pity-attractive, a low six at most.'' Stiles whined into his second chocolate muffin. Glancing back at handsome and gorgeous, the two looking so unfairly good together Stiles was about to have a existential crisis. 

''Come on man, that's not true- you're at least a seven point five.'' Scott placated, like the true bro he is.

Nodding his head to whatever else it was Scott is saying while trying to listen to the news broadcaster on the screen on the wall reporting about Senator Argent's campaign. 

The unsavory facts about Argent and his dubious businesses that have come to light now- only four months before the elections, would have had some believe he'd be out of the race for good. But getting someone behind bars is difficult when he has a vast, and useful, network of lobbyists on his side. 

There is a number of key players in the recent conservative movement, most of them old and rich- or stupidly rich, and sharing the same antiquated views. Yet no one did it quiet like Argent, who's spiel of being a Bigot Alpha dickhole is his whole agenda. He divides the population like no other, the people either loved or hated him, nobody was indifferent.

''You are rambleing into your mug. Again.'' Lydia chided. Stiles has not even noticed he was doing so and put his drink down in favor for finishing up the last bit of the dry and crumbly vegan and gluten-free, low sugar muffin. The thing kind of tasted like soggy cardboard but it kept his mouth from voicing out loud all his thoughts.

Sighing and with a heavy heart, Stiles watched mr. eyebrows and blonde and leggy put on their jackets, about to leave. ''There go skinny blonde and Macho Big-Dick Alpha Man. Oh shit - he spotted us. duck! DUCK!!'' 

Of course nobody actually ducked but Stiles still tried to hide himself behind one hand. Peering through his fingers he could see it was ineffective. The Alpha still approached their table, coming to a halt right beside him while Stiles - pretended to read the advertisement about cuticle health products on the back of Lydia's magazine, thinking that maybe if he ignored the Alpha long enough he would just leave. Play dead until they lose interest, isn't that how it goes with Alphas?

Uncertain, mr. GQ looks back at the blonde- once, twice as if to make sure something but she only elbows him in the side, nodding her head at Stiles, giving the Alpha a glare that looked a lot like 'just do it'. Eyebrows now turning his full attention to Stiles, clearing his throat. 

Reluctantly Stiles faces him and tries his best to make it seem as if it was just now he had noticed his hot neighbor around and has not infact been watching him fervently since the very second he had stepped into the café.

''I never got to introduce myself. Name's Derek.'' 

''Yeah, hi! And my name is Stiles, well- not really but you can call me Stiles. Most people i know do, because my actual name is quiet a mouthful and otherwise it would just end awkwardly for everyone around so- call me Stiles.''

The silence that followed his word vomit is kind of painful but the Alpha quirks the corner of his mouth up into what Stiles translates to amusement, although his eyebrows made it seem more like constipation than anything.

''See you later then, Stiles.'' Derek says and leaves with a wave of his hand, even the blonde waved goodbye at him.

Stiles waits until the pair is out of the door before he bangs his face against the table hard enough to rattle the dishes.

''Stop putting yourself down dude! I bet you blew his pants off!'' Scott was nice and his best friend but he was also a damn liar.

''he’s a handsome 6’5 apex Alpha, Prime cut, and i'm sure he has the biggest dick in existence. What would he want from someone like me? If you haven't noticed i'm the walking embodiment of the defenition of 'a mess'. I'm a mess Scotty! My life is a mess and i'm still wearing the same clothes as two days ago and you can't tell me he has not noticed because he definitely did.''

''You had alot on your mind these days so you were a little out of it. If you would let him get to know you better-''

''I have the personality of a wet rag. My nest is my workplace, you know i literally have the imprint of my ass molded into the mattress. Also- i don’t do the dishes unless there is literally nothing more i could eat off of at home. I'm not mate material, i'm barely even casual fuck material.''

Irritated, Stiles takes a big bite out of his now third chocolate muffin before his eyes found the indignant face of Lydia, scowling at him from behind her teacup.  
''What's her deal?'' he frowned pointing at her with his half eaten pastry, chocolate crumbs flying across the table and into one of the mugs.

''Stilinski you little shit. You are an Omega, you know Alphas are naturally designed to trip over themselves for you, you're just scared of their attention. That's the reason why you only wear ugly oversized dad-stuff from Goodwill.''

''Why would i spend 50 bucks on a pair of pants if i can get some for 10$, it's called reasoning Lydia.''

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Obnoxiously roistering loud sounds blare from the speakers, the rythmic beat is thundering through his veins and jolts up his spine like electrical current. The lights are furiously bright, blinding. Flashing beams of neon pink, purple and blue illuminating the mass of sweaty, gyrating bodies on the dance floor, moving to the synthetically produced noise some would refer to as music. 

Stiles doesn’t know how to move his body with the same casual confidence like most people do and if it weren't for the effects of his drinks, he might have questioned how he suddenly obtained the ability to dance. Because grabbing the first guy and grinding your ass against his crotch is considered dancing, obviously.

Sweaty and out of breath he makes his way through the crowd by the bar, practically throwing himself on the counter to get one of the barkeepers attention. Throwing back his drink in one gulp, putting the glass back down with a thump and then asking for another right away. 

''Woe is me, what has you like that my friend?'' The barkeeper ladies hair shines brightly iridescent in the clubs neon lights.

''something solid and fit as fuck, with a face that says i have killed a man. probably eats babies for breakfast.'' Stiles manages to slurr in response. She laughs while polishing and rinsing some glasses, mouthing 'ah, a man' in understanding.

''I know he has a huge dick. I just know it.'' Stiles continues on and can not for the love of Jahwe make out her lipstick color, was it red? mauve? it looks kinda green but that can't be right - all he knew was that he couldn't stand the shit eating grin it was spread across.

Three or maybe eight shots later Stiles finds himself infront of Derek's apartment. The door opens up because he might or might not have picked it and the first thing he sees is- really ugly wallpaper. Like really, really ugly. But the apartment is sparse, not indicating that anyone was actually living here. Considering the Alpha has just moved in, it didn't look like it at all.

Maybe the guy is like Patrick Bateman, has some sick beauty routine and listens to Phil Collins while working out half naked. The sudden dread of ending up murdered is very real, so Stiles does the smartest thing he can think of right now - and calls Lydia.

''Why the hell do you call me at ass o' clock Stiles?'' Lydia's voice was slurred and raspy from sleep. 

''I might have broken into the hot Alphas apartment and need the moral support, and a witness for when i eventually am found dead in a ditch later.'' The answer he recieved was silence. Confused Stiles looks at his phone screen to make sure the call hasn't accidentally ended.

''What do you mean you broke into his home? Stiles get out of there, you're a tiny Omega and he's like twenty feet tall and built like a motherfucker and when he finds you he's going to eat you!'' 

''´s fine, i'll just grab some stuff n´ leave. He'll never know- unless it's like his favorite shirt or something, then i'd feel like a real asshole. D'you think he would miss a pair of boxers?''

The sound of the door unlocking startled him so much he instantly sobered up. The underwear in his hand he has just been inspecting- fluttering to the floor.

Stiles is standing in the middle of the doorway to the bedroom like a deer caught in headlight, unable to move or react- or think or breathe. Just standing there staring right back at the Alpha who's surprised expression gave way to a face that will definitely haunt Stiles in his nightmares. 

He can hear Lydia, shrill and anxious through the phone speaker but his attention is on Derek, standing huffing and puffing by the entrance. Stiles ends the call before pocketing his phone. Throwing his hands up to show he is unarmed, getting ready to convince Derek not to call the police because explaining this situation to his dad at the station would be really awkward.

''What're you doing here?'' Oh no, Alpha voice. Luckily Stiles was drunk enough to ignore the urge to tell the mortifying truth - that he was actually planning on stealing the guys worn undies for his nest. 

''Oh! you- what!? You mean- this ISN'T actually my apartment?'' looking around exaggeratedly, flailing his arms for emphasis, Stiles tried to act confused. The Alpha just stands there watching him, unamused.

''Why are you here? Who sent you?'' 

''Sent-? No, wait-'' Real confusion makes it's way onto Stiles face until overridden by horror at the sight of the gun now pointed directly at him.

''Who. Sent. You?'' Derek snarls, punctuating every word with a step forward until the cold black barrel of the gun was pressing against his forhead, forcing Stiles to walk back into the wall behind.

''Oh shit! Oh fuck. Ok! N-no one. i wasn't sent here by nobody but my inebriated self. My drunk pre-heat brain thought it was a good idea to come in here and sniff at your dirty clothes. I'm sorry. Please, don't shoot me in the face at least- that's really fucking scary. And maybe could you look after my potted plant when i'm gone? Her name is Marjorie and she's a succulent, so try not to water her too much-'' 

The Alpha slowly lowers the gun, brows furrowed deeply in a violent mix of annoyance and confusion. ''You are actually telling the truth?''

''Y-yes, yeah. I don't know who is after you dude, but- it's not me- not in that way at lea- ok, i'm shutting up now.'' tilting his head up, up, up to see Derek towering over him. He wants to get an axe to chop him down to size.

''Don't call me dude-''

There was a thump and a crash, the door throws open and in step three tanks of men in black tactical gear, faces covered by ski masks. Mouth agape, Stiles felt his heart sink through his butt. 

Although his grip was loose, almost careless-looking, his aim was precise as Derek shoots one of them and the guy falls back like a log. Stiles blinks and Derek is all of a sudden at the other end of the room, hands wrapped around each of the remaining men's throats before there is a nasty cracking sound and those two as well- fall in a heap to the floor. 

Stiles looks perplexed at the men on the ground, unmoving, and jerks in place at the sudden realization.

''They're dead! Not- mostly dead or somewhat dead but Actually- dead dead. You just killed someone what the actual fuck!?''

As if unbothered by the Omegas hysterics, walking around Stiles as if he wasn't just having a mental breakdown, Derek starts pulling the handguns off the corpses and checking each of their amunition with what seemed to be growing confusion.

''That's it! i'm gonna call the cops.'' Stiles is already dialing his dad when Derek snatches the phone out of his hands and flings it across the room, making Stile rush after it with an indignant squawk.

Crouching down to one of the bodies the Alpha takes the mans earpiece and listens in. Head snapping into Stiles direction, the frown on the Alphas face right now was the most impressive one yet- and Stiles could swear he saw Derek's eyes flash red for a second.

''They're after you!'' Derek barks, stomping over now chest to face with Stiles. ''Why the fuck are they after you?''

Thinking to himself, what the hell did you get yourself into Stiles?..


	2. to escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this practically at lightning speed. ( ≖‿ゝ≖) The next chapter updates will most definitely not be as fast as this one.. yea, there's that. 
> 
> Anyway- (*˙︶˙*)/☆*° new chapter!! Hope you enjoy!!

''They're after you! Why the fuck are they after you?'' the Alpha's red eyes were terrifying. hot? yeah. but mostly terrifying. 

''How should i know!? I-i don't even know who those guys are or what they want, i really don-'' stoppping himself mid-sentence, Stiles pursed his lips sheepishly at the sudden realization. The Alpha lifts one of his striking brows inquiringly.

''Actually - i might or might not be partially responsible for the whole White House scandal of all those nasty things about Senator Argents businesses machinations in the corruption case involving that bunch of high ranking government officials.''

Derek's eyes nearly bulge out of his skull, mouth fallen open in disbelief. ''That was you!?'' 

''Yep, that’s me, Stiles Stilinski. Full of surprises.'' The Alpha just gives him an unimpressed scowl, bulky arms crossed over his chest probably just to antagonize him.

''What!?'' Stiles defends, nearly yelling. ''Was i supposed to just sit pretty while some way-back Alpha fucks over Omega rights back into the 1940's? He's a lunatic with this really weird obsession for the remaining three werewolves living somewhere in bumfuck nowhere. He's like a remastered version of Caligula that- given the chance, will single-handedly ride us into World War IV.'' Shutting himself up in his ranting to address a more pressing matter at hand.

''Anyway, mister! Who even are you?'' 

''I'm the guy that just saved your ass for some damn reason.'' Derek sighs tiredly, running his hand over that handsome face and scruff. 

Stiles is supposed to be terrified of him - he believes, after all that guy has just killed someone in cold blood - with his bare hands. Yet the Alpha is making it really hard for him, by looking this good and all. 

''Fart this. I'm gone.'' Stiles declares, more so to himself than anything, hurrying to get away before he discovers some weird new fetish that involved manslaughter of all things. 

A whistling sound catches their attention and before Stiles knew, Derek has tackled him to the floor, covering the Omega underneath his bulk. The window shatters and there is a deafening boom, an explosion that shakes the floor and walls. 

Trying to blow and spit the plaster out of his nose and mouth, Stiles is flailing around, making sure he has not lost a limb to the blast. ''oohkhay~ they don't give a damn, they just want us dead,'' he stammers terrified.

Once the ringing in his ears subsided Stiles dared to blink his eyes open. The rocket has blown off the ceiling lamp - so it was dark, but through the swirling clouds of dust in the air Stiles could still make out the silhouettes of people. People dressed just like those before- but these ones had on the heavy gear. 

Increasingly hysteric he starts hitting Derek in his desperation, trying to wake him because no matter how much he thrashed and kicked, he couldn't seem to wiggle out from under the dead weight of the Alpha sprawled atop him. 

''Wake up. wake up Derek. They're gonna fucking kill us.'' Stiles was whisper yelling into Dereks ear, hoping to rouse the Alpha from unconsciousness, unsuccessfully. 

Resigned to his apparently inevitable fate, Stiles throws his head back, skull thumping against the floor with a groan. that hurt. 

Muscles tensing instinctively at the mechanic clicking sound of a gun safety, Stiles eyes snap to the side and he sees in the darkness, standing over him - a masked man. The guy watches him for a second, like a fucking creep, before pulling off his mask- only to flash Stiles a cocky sneer. Cooing at him while stroking Stiles' cheek with the barrel of his machine gun. Blowing a mocking kiss in the Omegas face before aiming his weapon directly at it. 

Stiles life is already flashing before his eyes when Derek flips over with a jolt and his gun in hand, shooting the guy right in his smug face - leaving it sprawled a mess across the floor.

Crawling off of him, Derek looks around trying to locate the other attackers in the haze. Damn him, Stiles thinks - still laying on the ground, even covered in asbestos this guy looks good.  
''Stay down.'' Derek mouths- and usually Stiles is so much of a little shit that he would never let someone tell him what to do, but right now he was scared, so he simply nodded and did as he was told.

He can't really see what happens but he hears the sounds they make while.. whatever it is Derek does to them. 

Stiles just sees the last glimpses of the Alpha snapping someone's neck, before the dust has settled and Stiles was now able to actually look at the extent of the carnage around him.  
Stiles knew he was going to be sick, stomach coiling violently, he tastes bile in the back of his throat.

Practically dry heaving by now, sweating hot and cold, nauseous and disoriented he can vaguely make out the silhouette of Derek running around. Grabbing a heavy looking duffle bag from beneath the bed and a sleek metal suitcase, out of seemingly nowhere, in one hand - and then Stiles by the wrist with the other, pulling the rumpled mess that was him- up from the floor.

''Let's go.'' Derek orders and starts dragging the Omega along, making his way out of the apartment and down a flight of stairs before Stiles is emotionally stable enough to stem his sneakers into the ground with a rubbery squeak of defiance.

''Wait, wait a second! Ignoring the fact that you're some deranged sociopath killer, why would i go anywhere with you?'' 

''Because you can't possibly protect yourself from these guys, but i can.'' Derek reasons, brows furrowed as if trying to make out if Stiles was actually mentally impaired. 

''..Ok, yea. you're kinda right.'' 

They take another step before Stiles brain catches up and he stops again. ''Wait! Where are we even supposed to go?'' 

''Right now? Anywhere but here. We can't stay, they'll find you.'' 

''Ok. ok..'' 

Hand still around Stiles wrist the Alpha starts walking once more, before he is stopped by Stiles in his tracks. again. Derek groans, his pretty eyes rolling into his head exasperated. ''What is it now?'' he barks. 

''I can't leave without Marjorie!''

Shaking himself out of the Alphas grip, Stiles dashes across the hall and into his apartment. The busted open door is not even shocking anymore and neither is the sight of his home - which is, basically untouched. Yes, the disorder around is all his own doing. 

Only slightly embarrassed that the Alpha had followed him inside and was now beholding Stiles horder-nerd-den in all it's 2am glory. Treading over and around some laundry and haggardly scattered computer parts on the floor, Stiles makes his way into his bedroom. 

''It'll only be a seco- wow! You just really walked right into my room, without even asking permission. You know that intruding into an Omega's nest without explicit consent is a mortal sin. This is basically rape.'' 

Derek snorts but otherwise ignores him in favor for admiring his display of Star Wars model ships and array of random anime figurines - with a morbid curiosity.

''It's called pop culture you cretin. Stop snooping.'' 

''Am not snooping.'' is what Derek says- yet he is reading through the comic book titles on Stiles shelves while fondleing the baby Yoda doll in his hand all over.

Grabbing a backpack, Stiles climbs onto his bed, careful not to step on one of the keyboards he knew were somewhere underneath the comforter- and began packing up the important hard drives and two of his travel laptops, just to make sure. 

He couldn't believe those guys that were evidently sent to off him, had burst in here and did not take nor torch any of his stuff. Idiots, he thinks, but that just makes it easier for him. 

finally snatching the half empty bottle of diet cola and the bag of cheeto fries- he stuffs them along his equipment into the already bulging bag. Zipping up he slings everything over one shoulder before grabbing Marjorie - sitting preciously in her little colorfully mottled pot - off the desk.

''I'm ready. Let's go.'' 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now that the initial adrenaline high has subsided, paralyzing fear caught up with Stiles and his impromptu decision of following Derek for some insane reason. 

He just saw people die- no, be murdered, and was currently trapped in a vehicle on a road in the middle of nowhere with the lunatic assassin who happened to be randomly living just across from him - for weeks, undetected. If his dad finds out about all this Stiles will never hear the end of it.

Derek looks like he wants to punch him unconscious. Stiles is practically clawing the seat with one hand, his other holding tightly on to the handle thingy above the car window, which Stiles never understood the purpose of- until this very moment. Mumbling endless strings of compulsive thoughts and possible what-if scenarios, probably acting as if he was the deranged individual in this car. 

''Stop smelling distressed.'' 

''Yeah, well, today was not what you would call 'a good day' and right now i'm sitting in a confined space with a stranger that i've just witnessed kill half a dozen people, with no reassurance that i won't be the next on his hitlist. So no. i can't just stop smelling distressed all of a sudden.''

Derek snorts through his nose, muttering something underneath his breath that Stiles couldn't understand through his own frantic rambling thoughts and the hum of the car engine.

''You know- i have a strong suspicion that you are secretly hilarious, underneath the muscles and lumberjack beard.'' the Alpha's scowl shut Stiles right up and they spent the rest of the ride in silence.

Finally arriving at some shabby parking lot adjacent to- an even seedier looking motel that appeared to be straight out of some horror film. A bad one at that, with a crappy movie review.

''This place stinks like piss and dead animal.'' Stiles can't help but complain. Derek just grunts in a manner of agreement but otherwise seemed completely unfaced by the offending scent in the air. 

Accepting the key from the front desk lady, the Alpha grabs Stiles by the arm to pull him along and down the long and creepy corridor. Stiles' shoulder joint was slowly beginning to protest from this treatment but he decided to stay quiet about it. for now.

Ready to crack a joke at their room number, Derek just looks at him tiredly, minutely shaking his head as if daring the Omega to say anything about the little plastic pine tree with the number 69 on it.

Stepping in- the room smelled no better than outside, just with the stench of sweaty sex now added into the mix. The miasma of body odors muted only by the thik coat of scent-neutralizer and artificially sweet air freshener, something fruity with a vanilla note.

Thick forest green carpet, scrolled in a mosaic of questionable stains and a single queen-sized bed, covered in the ugliest bedspread Stiles has ever seen, a pastel colored floral atrocity, remnant of the late 70's. There is also a wood cased television mounted onto the wall besides a surprisingly nice art print of dogs playing poker.

The longer Stiles looks at his surroundings the more he is convinced he was going to end up brutally murdered tonight.

Grabbing the info card on the nightstand he reads through it all. There was no wifi but the prices for the minibar aren't atrocious and - opening the nightstand drawer, Stiles came face to face with the proffered selection of adult films on vhs. Wondering if every room had the same assortment of pornos or if they were all different.

The sound of a zipper startlingly loud in the quiet of the room, pulled Stiles attention away from the plot description of the video tape in hand. Turning around only to be confronted with a naked Derek. The Alpha had to certainly know what he was doing. He had to know he was being this piece of absolute shit. 

In order to attempt to get his thoughts under control Stiles forces himself to look away from that butt with a heavy effort - only to get an eye-full of Alpha dick instead. He stares. He simply does because he can't help it. 

Stiles did absolutely not have to see that right now. But at least he no longer has to wonder if Derek was packing, because now Stiles knew he is.

There is a smirk on Derek's face or- at least something like that when he passes by the Omega and disappears into the bathroom. Stiles waits a minute until he can hear the shower running before scrambleing out his phone to call Scott. 

''Wha-what's up? You allright?'' 

''No, no Scotty i'm not allright. Everything is a mess, i don't know what's going on anymore. I- i've been found, i suppose. Not sure yet who sent them- but there were a bunch of militia looking dudes trying to kill me.''

Stiles can hear the shuffling of clothes and a belt buckle clanking through the speaker. ''Scott no, i'm not at home anymore, i'm somewhere near-'' 

''-Sacramento? What the heck are you doing there?'' 

inhaling deep and instantly regretting it, because now he could taste the remnants of some strangers privates on the back of his tongue. ''Are you tracking my phone again Scott? What did i tell you about- doesn't matter right now. I'm with Derek, you know? Mr. eyebrows? He actually saved me but I don't know who or what that guy is - he managed to off like seven armed killers by himself. Doesn't seem very trustworthy you agree?''

Stiles noticed the shower has stopped. ''Bro, dad and Lydia will probably freak out. They bombed my place and that is likely going to make news - just tell them i'm fine, i'll try and solve this mess. I will contact you, gotta go now.''

Just as stiles hung up Derek stepped out of the steamy bathroom with the tiniest towel in existence wrapped around his hips. The flimsy thing doing nothing to hide Dereks Alpha parts as he got onto the bed.

''What is it you think you're doing Romeo?'' Stiles asked nervously, trying to scurry as far away as possible from the mountain of naked hirsute muscles by his side.

Derek throws his towel across the room to land on the back of one of the chairs. ''I sleep nude.'' he says, matter of fact while getting under the covers. 

Following the Alpha was most definitely the wrong idea Stiles now realizes. He doesn't want to lift the covers, afraid to get flashed again and settles for laying down on top of them and cover up instead with the ugly bedspread. He is so going to get scabies.

''The pillow stays right HERE. understood?'' Stiles props the lumpy pillow between them as barrier. 

The Alpha scoffs ''There's nothing to worry about.'' Stiles couldn't help but gasp, insulted. 

Without saying another word, backs towards each other they lay. The room next to them had apparently made use of the provided video entertainment. TV on full blast, shrill moans and screams accompanied by up beat jazz music - droning through the unsurprisingly thin walls.

Stiles twiddles his fingers in the seam of the scratchy covers, knowing well that he won't be able to shut an eye- and peeks over his shoulder to see if the Alpha had already fallen asleep. Derek is staring at the musty woodplank ceiling, either contemplating life or trying to follow the story of the porno- like Stiles was. 

Minutes pass until Stiles sits up with a start, looking at the Alpha wide eyed and incredulous before blurting out ''She is fucking her uncle in law?''

''And the guy driving the truck is her cousin.'' Derek informs casually. The Omega just looks at him, scandalized.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles woke in the morning - much too early, to the sound of bird songs, the insistent beeping of trucks driving out of their parking-spots and something thick and hot and hard pressed against his ass. If the bulk behind him and the sound of soft breathing against his ear was any indication, it was safe to assume that Derek has wrapped himself around him in his sleep, which would mean that the thick, hot thing jabbing into his sensetive bits - was the Alphas dick.

He moves to toss the covers off of his body but the arm around his waist grows impossibly tighter, an anchor to keep him buried beneath the sheets, pulling him with a sleepy rumble back into the offending appendage. 

Stiles grabs the landline phone by the bedside table and holds it threateningly over the Alphas head, ready to conk Derek in the face with it. ''Now keep those oversized hands where i can see em´ mister.''

Derek wakes with a frown that- if he wasn't butt naked and too much in Stiles personal space could actually be considered cute.

Derek releases him from his grip and Stiles rolls clumsily out of the bed, almost falling on the floor and just managing not to kill himself as he scrambled into safe distance.

''Feel free to begin your buns of steel routine or whatever. I'm gonna take a shower in the meanwhile.'' Stiles announces, lockeing the bathroom door- just in case and seeing his own offended face in the mirror at the sound of the Alpha - scoffing at the action.

It's dark and small and moldy, with stained tiles that have gone out of fashion before Stiles was even born, but there are two tiny hotel sized bottles of 2in1 bodywash and shampoo at disposal. fancy. 

Undressing out of his awfully dusty things that still had half of Dereks apartment's plaster over it, Stiles is now aware of the thing he has forgotten to pack in his haste - clothes. 

He has no clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to wrap my head around plural and posessive names - or the use of apostrophes in general. i just wing it. the other languages i speak rarely use them, so if you want to correct me on my mistakes or have any tips- feel free to share that with me, otherwise i'll just do them however. ( ･ᴗ･ )
> 
> Anyway- what do you think about the chapter? Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated♡♡♡


	3. to get to know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been staring at this text file for an hour now. it's as finished as it's gonna get. yea..
> 
> !!new chapter!! hope you enjoy!! °˖ ✧◝(○ ヮ ○)◜✧˖ °

Derek was cranky. He has, after all, just spent the worst night of his life. Restless and agitated, kicking helplessly trapt beneath the scratchy motel sheet covers next to the pheromone bomb that was one Stiles Stilinski in pre-heat. 

I should have let them shoot him, he thinks looking down at his errection - still standing at attention and pointing vigorously in the direction of the bathroom door behind which the entire reason for all this mess is taking a preposterously long morning shower, while singing every Avril Lavigne song there apparently is. 

Derek scoffs to himself. The Omegas troubles should be none of his business. Definitely not an issue nor any of his problem. And yet - it was totally his business, his issue and absolutely his problem. 

Derek has from early on learned that careless thoughts lead to thoughtless actions and those can mean the end to the already precarious lifes of his kin. He has a pack to look after and protect and can't allow himself to thoughtlessly expose them all to danger. But- this situation was different.

There was no time to regret or second guess his decision. After all it wasn't careless, thoughtless. It was instinct. Because ever since the moment their eyes had first met, since they first touched, Derek knew. 

He knew this human, this Omega... Stiles, was his Soulmate. 

The Moon goddess was unpredictable like that, acting in inexplicable and incoprehensible ways at times. Or maybe not so much- after all. 

Looking back at the television running in the background, showing a news report about the abrupt plummet of Argent stock numbers after investors and business associates pulled away to save themselves from the fallout of the scandal involving Gerard Argent. 

Stiles was responsible for that. Derek is still trying to wrap his head around that fact.

Considering the selection of shirts Derek has layed out on the bed he picks out the softest one of the bunch. Because Omegas like soft things, he thinks. Yes. He is pretty certain. 

When he called his uncle the night before to brief him on his situation and ask for advice, Peter has simply laughed at him - for three minutes straight. Popped a bottle of champagne in Dereks name and expense to celebrate by himself the new addition to the family. 

A troublemaker - those are his favorites, Peter said and made it clear that he was more than excited to meet Stiles, the young Omega who has left Gerard Argent - one of the most vocally anti Omega Senators in congress, standing with his pants down for the whole world to see. 

Yes, Derek was already dreading meeting up with his uncle.

Stiles looks admittedly - ridiculous when he finally totters out of the steaming bathroom, balancing a towel turban on his head while trying not to trip in the oversized hotel slippers. He indecorously wrapped himself in a bathrobe that is much too large on him and bunches awkwardly around his waist. 

Yes, he looks ridiculous but he tilts his head just so - and unconsciously displays the long smooth expanse of heat flushed neck to the Alpha, without any sense for modesty and propriety, forcing Derek to suck a sharp breath through his teeth. 

Wolf going crazy. Derek wants to kiss each of the Omegas pruney fingertips. He was losing his damn mind and so he does the only thing he can do right now. 

He prays. Moon goddess give him strength.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

''You can change into this shirt.'' Derek motions with a hand to a way too large black Aline T-shirt layed out on the bed for him to grab. Stiles wonders if the Alpha owns any type of clothing that is not black or in dark shades of of grey. The reason was probably to hide the blood he spills on a daily. 

Stiles pulls the thing on - and frowns. It looks like a damn frock on him.

''Do you have anything that isn't tailored for bigfoot, or maybe a little more colorful?'' Stiles twiddles with the hem of the shirt. At least it feels soft.

''It's black, it's subtle.'' The Alpha motions to himself, clad entirely in black as well.

Stiles eyes gaze over the Alpha critically. Muscles practically bulging at the seams. Cock stuffed so tightly down his right pant-leg that hardly a detail was obscured. 

''Talking about subtlety when you're basically a walking billboard for some raunchy Alpha escort service.'' Stiles mumbles while toweling off his hair.

''I blend in.'' 

''You're a million feet tall and dressed for a funeral, you don't blend in.'' Stiles nearly lashes out with his wet towel, frustrated.

Dereks brows furrow and he pouts. Actually - pouts. Stiles can't help but give in to that - albeit reluctantly. He just goes weak when the Alpha acts all cute like that.

''I still have no pants though.''

The pants problem has been solved by a pair of basketball shorts who's drawstring Stiles tightened so much it will probably snap sometime throughout the day but will do for now. It might be unnecessary given that he still looks pants-less, the shorts completely covered beneath the shirt, but Stiles at least won't have to fear being arrested for public indecency now. 

Not at all surprising, the motel did not offer a breakfast buffet in addition to being in the middle of nowhere. So they hit the road without a bite in search for some place to eat at.

Time passes - slowly and Stiles is on the brink of resorting to start filter feeding, like a sponge, when they drive past sign for a gas-station n' diner. Practically flinging himself onto the steering wheel, Derek manages to not land them in a ditch and so they stop at this rustic little family diner called POP's. The place is like a fresh breath of air for the Omega. For the first time in hours he feels like he does not have to worry about ending up brutalized some way or another. 

''Can you not make that face? You are already scary enough. Do you really want people to jump into traffic just to avoid walking next to you?''

Derek pushes him in response, not hard but Stiles is known to not be necessarily the most solid on his feet. So he trips and nearly stumbles off the kerb. 

''Abuse!'' Stiles shouts, frightening a flock of birds into flight. 

Whipping his head left and right Derek looks around the empty parking lot. ''Stop that, you're going to attract attention.'' the Alpha hisses holding the diner door open for Stiles to walk through.

The waitress that seats them is a rotund, friendly looking older Beta lady who's nametag reads Edith. She seems nice enough but keeps insistently nudging Stiles in the side with her elbow. Silently communicating to him through an array of winks and suggestive eyebrow wiggles while nodding every now and then in Dereks direction. Stiles get's the gist of it and plays along, smiling and nodding and wiggleing his eyebrows back at her. 

Derek tries to act like he doesn't know what's going on but Stiles can see the twitch in the Alphas mouth as he's trying not to laugh and pretends to grouchily read the menu card instead.

Stiles would likely starve before he spent more than 10$ on a meal, but luckily enough for him Derek pays, because apparently the Alpha is a gentleman in spite of his affinity for murder and perpetually sour mood. 

So Stiles orders a stack of waffles and a coffee while Derek goes on about greek yogurt and Oatmeal and eggs n' beans n' sausages and- ezekiel bread. Of course this muscle pig would be on a protein diet.

Derek downs half of his piping hot coffee - no sugar, no milk, like the psychopath he is, before leaning in over the table, suddenly dangerously close to Stiles face. ''Now, i want answers and you will tell me everything. Don't even think about lying to me. I'll know if you are.'' 

Sure, Stiles thinks and rolls his eyes. He is a great liar, the Alpha wouldn't know shit.

''It was a group operation so - whoever is after me is either tracking down every party or i was used as scapegoat.''

''who gave you all this information about Argent?'' Derek continued. 

''i have no idea.'' Stile stated flat out, drowning his waffles in chocolate syrup.

Derek again looked like he wanted to punch something but settled instead for eating some of his grown ass man breakfast.

Stiles sighs and tries to explain. ''We met in a chat-room on the darkweb, comunicated solely through obscure memes, but considering the intel on these documents it must be someone inside and way up there in this mess.''

''What do you mean?''

''I mean-'' Stiles swallowed a mouthful of waffle, smacking his tongue against his teeth to get some of the syrup off them. ''-someone in Argent's close circle is plotting against him, for whatever reason. I'm not the type of person to look a gift horse in the mouth, ya know? It might be that very same person is using me now to divert attention from themselves. Which by the way - dick move, but again - i don't know them.''

''And what do you suggest we do about that?''

Stiles leans back into the booth, looking contemplative at the ceiling for a good minute before giving a dismissive shrug and resuming his eating. ''I'm 89% sure that me and wikileaks have the same goal. Prevent Argent from winning the election. I'd suggest letting them do the work and i run decoy. Because once that man sits in the Oval office it will be over, for everyone.'' Stiles takes a long sip from his mug.

''Ya know, the stuff i leaked? The thing with the bribes? That is nothing in comparison to what is actually going on. That man and his clan have their grubby fingers in every crooked thing imaginable. Illegal arms trafficking, big scale money laundering, financing right wing politic movements in foreign countries, tax evasion. But i have no proof for any of that. You see all this stink they're talking about him? Doesn't matter. He has the big fish in the bag no matter how much mud you throw at him now, his chances for winning are good. Too good.'' 

''so?'' Derek says, unimpressed.

Stiles frowns, he knows he sometimes starts talking Quenya when he gets worked up but he thought he has made his point clear. ''So- of course we have to prevent Argent from winning.'' 

''And why would i do that?'' 

''So that we can bring down the patriarchy and free the country from the shackles of its corrupt system and become the heroes this nation needs. Hello?''

''Was that supposed to be motivational? Because I feel more uninspired than anything.'' 

''You're a real cactus aren't you?'' Stiles grumbles, pushing around the last bite on his plate.

Dereks gaze intently fixes on something over Stiles shoulder, leaving the Alpha slack jawed. Stiles turns and sees the camera on the television screen panning over their apartment complex, the whole thing up in flames. Stiles can't remember the whole block being on fire when they left the night before. 

A photo of Stiles appears in the corner by the newscaster ladies face. For some reason he is now labeled a domestic terrorist. 

At least the photo they selected of him is somewhat decent.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek pays in a rush and huddles Stiles underneath an arm to hurry out of the diner without anyone taking much notice of them.

He practically throws the Omega into the passenger seat and drives off. This whole thing is turning into more of a mess by the minute. No, scratch that, this whole things is becoming a nightmare. He has to meet with Peter, because to be honest - he doesn't know what else to do and Stiles- Stiles just won't shut up.

''You see? I'm not crazy, Derek, the world is. Don't you think it's time for a change?''

''I think you should lay low and hope that whoever is after you thinks you died. Take on a new identity and live somewhere in the mountains. You said you like goats, you can get a bunch of them, make cheese and such.''

They drive for hours but their back and forth arguing felt endlessly longer, they are practically screaming at each other by now and Stiles has resorted to making animal noises because - of course, mooing like a cow is a great argument and invalidates all of Dereks points. By midday Derek was sick of it all, tired and with a headache that was threatening to split his skull in half. He hits the brake so hard Stiles nearly crashes into the windshield.

''If you believe you have to truly safe the world- you can do that on your own. I'm out.'' Derek pulls the keys out of the ignition and sits on them. Crossing his arms over his chest he throws his head back into the headrest, determined to not be moved until the Omega sees reason and realizes that whatever it is he is trying to accomplish will only end in a disaster.

Stiles looks at him for a good minute, incredulous, still half sprawled over the dashboard from when Derek abruptly stopped the car. He takes a moment to scramble back up on the seat, looking out of the window into the vast solitude of desert surrounding them. Rapidly tapping his knuckles against the car door, as if waiting for a sign. 

''Okay, so you won't help me?'' The Omega stuffs his feet into his sneakers and throws himself over the Seat, reaching for his backpack in the backseat before strapping it on. He yanks the door open and into the airconditioned interior blasts the full afternoon heat of the desert. Stiles takes a second to steel himself, adjusting the heavy bag before stepping out, angryly shouting. ''Fine, i don't need your help anyways.''

''Fine then.'' Derek shouts back.

''Fine!'' Stiles shouts again, angrier. Throwing the door close with a bang Stiles turns around in a flurry. Looking ridiculous dressed in Dereks oversized clothes and with the bulging backpack on as he begins stomping away along the endless stretch of highway. 

Omegas were all like that, he supposed. Oddly sentimental and hysteric, despite claiming to be everything but. 

Derek looks after Stiles long enough that the Omegas silhouette becomes distorted in the heat glare of the asphalt, until nearly disappearing on the horizon. The Alpha groans, head falling back into his neck, he rubs his aching muscles tiredly. Looking up into the cloudless sky, the sun is glaring down and there are the shadows of two vultures making their circles above.

Derek sighs and turns back to where Stiles has walked off to - just to not see him anymore, at all. 

There is an itchy feeling in his fingertips, a restlessnes that suddenly spreads and he can feel his pulse quicken. Heart practically hammering in his chest Derek jumps out of the car and looks around again trying to maybe make out the Omega in the distance but instead he notices the potted plant - Marjorie, sitting on the dashboard. He can feel the succulent judging him through the glass - and caves.

''Ugh. fine!'' Derek snaps at the plant, throwing himself back into the car and turning it around.

Driving past rocky hills, sagebrush, and juniper. He doesn't see him, Stiles is not there, he is nowhere. How could he have already been snatched up? It hasn't even been five minutes yet. 

Derek sticks his head out of the open window - trying really hard not to think of some stupid dog-joke while doing so, and attempts to pick up on Stiles' scent in the air. Following its trail that - for some damn reason - leads off the road. Some people just don't think very well in dangerous situations, and that gets them killed. But only this Omega would walk unprompted off the path and straight into the fucking desert. 

Derek is startled out of his thoughts by a bang. The steering wheel jerks violently in his hands as one of the back tires pops and nearly flies off. The Camaro swerves dangerously, nearly turning over but Derek manages to get it to stop - just in time for three sleek black Jeep to catch up and surround him. 

Out of the vehicles step - people in familiar looking tactical gear.

''Where is the Omega?'' One of the masked men asks, pointing at Derek with his rifle. 

So they didn't know where Stiles was either. At least that was a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this urge to write some kind of historical AU. I just really love medieval/regency/victorian - romance. That stuff is my shit. Thing is just i'm probably no good at writing that (´ヮ` ;) also i have like.. no idea for a plot so- for now that will be left in the drawer  
> -but if you have ideas feel free to share them with me.
> 
> Anyways- what do you think about this chapter? Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated.


	4. to reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't mind me- having a good ol' time writing this fic. i'm just having a field day with this. hope you enjoy!!! ╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯

''Where is the Omega?'' One of the masked men asks, pointing at Derek with his rifle. 

So they didn't know where Stiles was either. At least that was a good thing. 

The guy talking to him looked like he could bench press a fridge but Derek wasn't much impressed by that, he could take him. 

With his hands still on the steering wheel, fingers twitching with nerves, knuckles white from the strain of keeping them in place and his claws from coming out - he weight his chances. Derek looked around from the corner of his eye, counting eight - nine other people. 

All of them armed and surrounding the Camaro but not doing a particularly good job of trying to cage Derek in. They were no hired guns but some of Argent's hunters, though given their badges and uniform however- merely low ranking ones, foot soldiers for doing the dirty work. 

They appear to not have realized who or what Derek is, yet. Meaning, they most likely came unprepared for a Werewolf encounter which gave Derek the option to just go for it and simply deal with a few simple gunshot wounds later. 

Slowly moving his hand towards the door handle, waiting for the man with the rifle to finally step closer. The guy was swinging the thing around like it were his cock in a show of power, probably trying to intimidate Derek, before leaning his bald head in closer to the driver side window. 

The guy gives him a smirk. ''C'mon pretty boy, we can do this the easy- or the hard way.''

Throwing the car door open, it crashes into the guys face with the sound of cracking cartilage and a burst of blood over the window. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles feels like one giant stubbed toe. Like someone had run over him with a semi and then backed up to ensure that they finished the job. His shoes might or might not be filling with his own damn blood and he is hungry - as well as tired and most probably has a sunburn already. Also - he was still mad as all hell at Derek for being such a giant bag of dicks to him earlier. 

Throwing himself on the ground, Stiles rubs the deep indents from the bag straps on his shoulders, with a wince. The weight of the backpack was stemming the blood flow to his arms enough they had begun growing heavy and numb. 

There was no sound around him in this endless stretch of desert wasteland, except for the endless infernal pinging notification sounds of his phone, which is blowing up with text messages and calls coming in in rapid fire succession. Most of which he already knows are from his Dad, who in his old man way of texting - in full blocks of text, demands of his son an explanation and good justification for why Stiles was suddenly on America's most wanted and all over the news for his supposed acts of terrorism. 

He doesn't want to risk having any calls or messaged traced so he opts for turning his phone off instead. 

Yeah. Not even the cool looking spikey lizard basking on that rock by his side is enough to lift his mood right now. 

Stiles should have stayed on the road and not have tried going all - man versus wild and attemtpt to find civilisation by reading rock formations, because now he was lost and running in circles trying to find his way back. He definitely watches too much Discovery channel and is convinced most of what they show on there is bullshit anyway.

Tempted to just lay down for a second and collect his strength, the pesky Vultures circleing above him are scary looking enough to have him decide against it. 

He tries to cheer up, convince himself that maybe it felt worse than it actually was. Pulling one of his sneakers off with a pop and now seeing that - it was worse than it felt - Stiles suddemly feels like crying.

Exercise really isn't his thing, like- at all. His body completely unprepared for the expedition he decided to spontaneously embark upon when he ran away, insulted and affronted by the Alphas admittedly understandable, unwillingness to go with Stiles on what he expected- was truly a suicide mission. 

Stiles has actually started to believe he and mr. grumpy had formed some sort of connection, even if it was for only for a moment. But maybe trying to coerce a quasi stranger for hours on end into risking their life for you and your ideals is not the best way to start a good relationship with anyone. 

Stiles has never been all that good at flirting.

There is a bang followed by the shrill squeaking of tires. Squinting his eyes against the glare, Stiles can make out the flickering outline of Dereks muscle car in a cloud of dust in the distance. The thing is just standing there in the middle of nowhere along with three other vehicles. The hell was the Alpha doing? 

Stiles is ready to ignore just about everything and take off in the opposite direction- when the sound of gunshots have him frantic, frenzied, scrambling in the sand like a scarab. 

The banging echo of gun recoils and the sharp singing of metal from the few marks hitting against the frame of the cars making the Omega flinch with every shot.

Oh shit, oh fuck, Stiles curses. Those guys have actually caught up with them already.. and are now kicking Dereks ass. There is nothing much he can do to help but he also can't just stay here and watch while doing nothing at all.

In all the chaos of the fight going on, Stiles has by some kind of divine miracle managed to approach the scene of action completely undetected. Derek has in the meanwhile managed to- again somehow take down nearly all of the attackers, and was now grappling on the ground with the last remaining one when the dude pulls a gun and sits the thing directly on to Dereks chest before pulling the trigger. 

Stiles muffles a scream behind his hands and after a moment of panic dares peek an eye over, seeing with relieve that Derek was still alive while the guy who just shot him was not looking all that fresh.

Stiles is about to run up to Derek when he notices someone on the ground stirr. They cock their gun and aim it at Derek - who was still catching his breath. 

Oh no you won't, Stiles thinks and grabs some random machine gun off the ground by his side. He sure as hell won't shoot the thing but he whacks her in the head with the back of it instead. With a heavy thump the woman goes face first into the dirt, knocked out cold. 

Standing over her is Stiles. In his shaking hands - the weapon. ''Can you believe i just did that?'' he asks Derek, voice jittery with adrenaline.

The Alpha just blinks at him in response, brows so furrowed they nearly touch the bridge of his nose, making Stiles feel lowkey threatened. 

''Nice to see you too, asshole. No need to thank me for saving your life or anything.'' 

Rushing over to Dereks side when Stiles stops in his tracks at the sight of all the blood. It's scent heavy in the air, tasting in the back of his tongue like a handfull of pennies. ''You're not ok. You're so not ok. You got shot. Twice? Thrice?'' Stiles nearly retches, the heat is making him feel faint.

Derek grunts in affirmation, hand pressed against the starkly bleeding wound on his chest, just sitting there on the ground, legs out stretched, head thrown back into his neck with a tired sigh - like he is sunning on the beach and it sends Stiles spiraling right into a panic-attack. 

''How are you not freaking out!? I'M FUCKING FREAKING OUT! We are lost in the middle of nowhere and you got fucking shot! And now you're going to bleed out and die to death and it is all my fault. You will leave me all alone here in the desert and i will get eaten by some cave dwelling degenerates. Have you seen the hills have eyes, Derek? And what's bothering me the most right now is that blister on my little toe and not the bunch of dead bodies piled around me. That can't possibly be normal, that isn't how healthy minds work.''

Stiles was actually full on crying by now. That blister on his toe really hurt a whole lot.

Derek might as well have been wearing a sign that said, i have something to say, in big neon letters but decided to not work the Omega up even more and instead keep put.

''We need to get you help. We better not use our phones, but we could maybe try making smoke signals..'' Stiles looks at Derek's car and knows it isn't an option, because he has now clue how to change a tire. Taking one of the jeeps would be a risk but right now seems like the only viable option they have.

Stiles was working himself into hysterics again, thinking about possible gps trackers and satellite surveillance. Turning and turning in circles, spinning so fast in place that he was starting to become dizzy - when he sees something that pushes the brakes on his brain to a sudden full stop. 

''Who the hell is that?'' 

As if having materialized out of thin air, there is now a old black dude standing by a rusty volvo pick-up truck, watching them both with a baffled expression. The stranger gives the amount of bodies around them a cursory glance before quickly trying to climb back into his car and escape.

''W-wait! Wait, sir?!'' Stiles rushes over and holds with all his might onto the door the older Beta man was just about to slam shut in his face, hoping it will prevent him from just driving off. 

''I know this looks bad, believe me. I know! But we're.. you could say - the good guys? We're lost and my friend there is seriously hurt, we really need help.''

The old man just looks at Stiles, skeptically. Glancing over the rim of his spectacles back at Derek, as if to make sure the Alpha was still over there and not in the middle of dismantling his shabby vehicle as they speak. With a defeated sigh the stranger motions with a hand wave that says, come on.

They connect the Camaro to the back and tow it off behind them. They do not drive back onto the highway but instead deeper into the wasteland. Derek gives the Omega by his side a unimpressed scowl but Stiles seems completely unbothered and content with simply being able to sit somewhere air-conditioned.

''I trust him.'' 

''I wouldn't bet on that. You have zero instinct for self preservation.'' The Alpha snorts.

''Obviously. why else would i be around you?'' Stiles scoffs in retort.

''You are the one with a kill squad after you.'' 

Stiles has nothing he can counter with and instead directs his attention back to the man driving in the front. ''I'm Stiles by the way, and this is Derek.''

''Alan Deaton.'' the Beta introduces himself, looking back at them through the reverse mirror from where a pair of fluffy dice plushies dangle. ''I would ask you two what is going on but i'm not sure i want to actually know.''

They eventually arrive - somewhere where there are a bunch of horses roaming around freely and Stiles nearly loses his shit, fussing over the animals that barely pay him any mind at all.

''I'm only a veterinarian, but i guess i can take a look and make sure you don't die on us now. Who knows what they shot you with.''

Stiles agrees to it on Dereks behalf, still insisting on helping him out of the car and up the wooden porch to the little house, trying to support the much larger Alpha with a heavy effort- even though Derek is entirely capable of doing so on his own and was merely resting his arm lightly over the others shoulder. 

Deaton leads them into the back where there is a examination room - all white tiles, metal examination table and a large round surgical light overhead. The smell of horse and antiseptic around is strong and tickles Stiles nose with the urge to sneeze.

''I really don't need any medical attention-'' Derek tries to lift himself off the metal table again but gets pressed back down on it by Stiles who sputters, wildly flailing with a roll of gauze bandages and pair of pincers. 

''You just got shot! In the chest! How do you not need medical attention?'' 

In a fit of pure hysteria Stiles takes hold of the shirt Derek is wearing, grabbing it by the neck with a yank and just tears that thing all the way down the middle. Revealing - impressive pectoral muscles. The Omegas hands touch over the expanse of flesh in disbelieve, they are firm yet bouncy - and more importantly, completely unmarred. 

''But- but you, i saw - he shot you! Point blanc!''

''He's a Werewolf.'' Deaton says as casually as one would comment on the weather. Stiles whirls his head around to face Derek, trying to confirm what the Beta has just said.

''I'm a Werewolf.'' Derek confirms.

It is like a reflex when Stiles suddenly strikes out, thwacking Derek across his dumb handsome face. ''You can't just say that and expect me to not want to fuck you up,'' Derek is a Werewolf, he can apparently take a bullet to the chest so he can take some frustrated hits from Stiles as well. 

''Here i thought you were about to fucking die but instead you must have been having a good old time seeing me lose my shit. Was it fucking funny?'' Stiles practically seethed.

Derek put his hands up in surrender, trying his best to placate the furious Omega. ''You were already so distressed, i had no idea how you would react and didn't want to freak you out even more by just telling you. I didn't want to make you any more upset. I didn't want to scare you''

Stiles is unsure on how to feel about that statement nor the kicked puppy look Derek was suddenly beaming his way. The silence between them stretches long as they simply stare at each other.

Deaton clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable being there. ''You are welcome to stay the night. I'm going to make chili con carne for dinner.'' 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deaton has one of those big mouth billy bass singing fish trophies on the wall and Stiles can't help himself, pressing the button to make it sing. It doesn't. He is disappointed when he checks the battery panel in the back and sees that it's empty.

Dinner is done and they all take a seat by the small table in the corner between the little living room space and the kitchenette on the other side. It's small but in a cozy way - it's just the Alpha by his side that makes it feel this awkwardly cramped, with all of his height and muscle, taking up all the leg space.

Stiles was just about to serve himself when from beneath the table a grey rat-pig looking thing emerges. It is one of those naked mexican dogs. It only has three legs and practically no front teeth so it's freaky long tongue just dangles around infront of its face like a anemic slug. It's also kind of really fat and it takes great wheezing effort to hobble over to him and prop itself up Stiles knee.

Curiously he checks the nametag on its collar. She is called potato. Stiles loves this ugly dog so much already. He would die for this dog.

''Don' feed her the chili, else she'll get flatulences.'' Deaton warns and Derek makes a face as if he has just lost his appetite.

''About the singing fish on the wall.'' Stiles starts- they are sitting in the living room space, the Beta is reading something about duck care while Stiles pets the hairless dog sprawled over his lap and watches Derek attentively through the lace curtains on the window.

The Alpha is pacing back and forth outside, shouting frustrated into his phone. He has been at it for a while now. His feet already having grooved a distinct line into the dust in his agitation.

''Ah, yes. It plays Don't Worry Be Happy, but it got wet once from a leak in the roof and now it sounds quite jarring.'' Deaton thumbs out the batteries from the tv remote and pops them into the fish instead. In an instant the plastic fish starts shaking to life and begins singing a cursed version of Don't Worry Be Happy in the most demonic voice imaginable. 

Now stiles just feels upset.

Deaton did not have a guest bedroom, what he had was an inflatable mattress they managed to cram into place, only half inflated though- cause otherwise it would not fit anywhere. If both Derek and Stiles decided sleeping on it, it would result in one rolling into-over-under the other. Derek therefore made himself comfortable in the armchair instead. probably needed his beauty sleep or whatever. 

Not like Stiles wanted to actually share a bed with the Alpha or anything, he had Potato for company after all why would he ever want to sleep with mr. grumpy and constipated, wake up cuddled in those stupid- way too large arms again. Ha! He doesn't! 

Not at all disappointed, Stiles squeezes Potato to himself as he tries to fall asleep and not incessantly stare at the Alpha resting in the armchair. Instead he is shaken wide awake by the foul stench of something in the air.

''There must be a leak of some sort of toxic subterranean gas main, should we wake Deaton to evacuate?'' Stiles attempts to convince the Alpha. 

''Stiles? Did you feed the dog the chili?'' Derek groans as another wave of poison gas wafts over them.

''-no...'' Derek is a Werewolf, he hears the lie.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles fiddles with the radio stations and grows more frustrated with every country oldy that comes up.

''Stop it.'' Derek barks, his voice is gruff and tired and his beard looks more scraggly than usual. 

''But i'm bored-'' Stiles whines throwing himself back into the seat, legs kicking up on the dashboard, naked feet leaving condensation on the windshield. ''Where are we even actually going?''

Derek frowns at Stiles wriggling naked toes, they're all bruised and blistered. ''We're going to meet up with my uncle, he's actually already waiting for us.''

''Cool, ok. And where is he?'' Stiles ask absentmindedly as he checks Marjories soil.

''Vegas.''

''Las Vegas!?''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my grandma used to have a hairless dog, his name was Salchicha- and i spent my childhood terrified of that thing. anyways- what do you think about the chapter? Stiles now finally knows Derek is a Werewolf, so there's that.. ┏( .-. ┏ ) ┓
> 
> Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated.


	5. to Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ୧( ॑ധ ॑)୨ new chapter! hope you enjoy!!

Derek has been raised with the faith to believe and trust in the moon goddess reasons, accept whatever fate which is destined for him. Yet, sometimes he can't help but question her judgement, omnipresent and omniscient as she may be. 

His life has in the span of only two days taken such turns that he finds himself- now on the run from a notorious hunter clan.. that isn't even after him, but instead the soulmate he was encumbered with. A human of all things. 

Fate for some reason also has lead him into a convenience store somewhere along the California Nevada state-border, where Derek is right now trying to reason with Stiles about which kind of band-aids to buy. 

You would think that if someone is your destined mate - your other half, you two will be in concordance about such things. But Stiles.. Stiles has his opinions. 

''Yeah, but these have dinosaurs on them.'' The Omega argues, as if that is a valid reason to prefer them over the other options available. What is he, five? 

Derek's eyes glance over the display case again before grabbing for something more appropriate. ''Look, these have gel padding and aloe with cooling properties, it will soothe the pain and prevent your blisters from getting rubbed any more raw.'' He says, trying to be rational, because at least one of them has to be.

''Ok.. but these one's have pterodactyls that glow in the dark.'' Stiles shakes the box in his hand for emphasis.

How is this Derek's life right now? The Alpha is just about ready to flip the whole display of band-aids over in his rage. 

''They will be on your feet, you won't even be able to see them.'' He might have raised his voice a bit there, and now Stiles is pouting. 

The Omegas emotions are all over the place. Derek knows it has to do with Stiles' heat, the raging chemical soup of hormones that is cooking the Omega's brain and making Stiles be this absolutely insufferable little shit. Trust him. He knows. 

Which is why he genuinely tries to be considerate and empathetic and sensetive - he was dealing with his Soulmate after all. If Stiles get's upset, the Alpha's Wolf will only freak out and make this whole mess even worse. 

Still, this was just ridiculous. 

Derek throws his head back into his neck with a tired groan, blinking up at the glaring neon tubes of the lights above - droning with electrical voltage. It is probably too quiet for humans to even pick up on but to him it sounds like a beating jack-hammer in his ears. Yea, leaving the inflatable mattress to Stiles was a fat fucking fault. 

The Alpha cracks his neck left and right. Super healing be damned, his back hurt from sleeping the night in that armchair. That is what he gets for wanting to make sure his Soulmate sleeps comfortably. 

Derek snatches the pack of dinosaur band-aids out of the Omegas hands. He'll just buy them both. Problem solved.

Further browsing through the shelves, he again notices the cashier in the front. The pimple-faced kid at the cash register has been eyeing Stiles strangely ever since they first walked in. It might be because Stiles still looks like he is wearing no pants, or- the fact that the Omega's heat is stinking up the entire place. Derek hopes the guy has not called the authorities, the last thing they need right now is to get in trouble with the police. 

Grabbing two bottles of water out of the cooling cabinet Derek blinks at the stack of newspapers layed out - all of them showing Stiles' face smiling back at him from the title page. Big block letters warning about the 'OMEGA TERRORIST ON THE LOSE!'. 

Well, Derek guesses that this could also be a reason for- why the cashier is acting like this. 

Walking over to where Stiles is picking out candy, Derek grabs a pair of sun glasses off a rack besides them and puts them on the Omega. Stiles blinks up at him through the tinted shades, confused, before turning around to look at himself in the little mirror. 

''They're so fucking ugly.'' Stiles snorts at his own reflection, and then looking through the selection of sun glasses himself. Trying out other models, each more gaudy than the last. Stiles gasps at one in particular, a small pair for toddlers. 

''You think they would fit Marjorie?'' the Omega asks him in all seriousness. 

The kid at the cash register scans their items, the guy's sweaty and his eyes are nervously flicking back and forth between the items he's registering and Stiles. The Omega- of course, seems entirely unaware of it, as he looks through the assortment of chewing gum on display. 

Derek reaches out with the money in hand to pay, but before the kid can take it - Derek grabs him by the collar of his uniform polo-shirt and yanks the guy half over the counter. Face shifted, he snarls right at him, fangs bared and gnashing, eyes glowing red. The threat is silent but the kid understands, rapidly nodding his head he stammers. ''I- i haven't seen any-anything, ok? I w-won't t-tell anyone.''

Derek snaps his teeth in the guys face before letting him slump to the ground behind the counter. 

Derek leaves the money on the counter, taking the bags with their purchases before walking out. Stiles hurries after him - as fast as he possibly can with his shoes on wrong. Heels out and walking on his toes, the shoelaces are also undone. It is a miracle the Omega isn't tripping all over himself.

Stiles throws the car door close and turns in the seat to give Derek a look over the rim of his new sun glasses. ''You nearly made that dude piss himself, you know? He's probably traumatized now.''

''Good.'' Derek snorts, reaching for one of Stiles' feet, pulling off the Omega's sneaker. 

He can't believe how much he actually enjoys simply holding Stiles foot in his hand, absentmindedly letting his thumb rub circles into the skin behind the ankle. Derek first dresses the Omega's wounds with the gel band-aids, then putting the dinosaur ones on top. It just- looks wrong. 

But his heart races when Stiles smiles at him, wriggling his toes contently. Yes, this is his life now.

Derek slowly but surely begins to get a feeling for all that must be going on inside his Soulmate's head.

Stiles' music-playlist is very much like the Omega himself - a jack of all trades, except for social skills, of course. It shuffled casually from movie scores to- cartoon show intros to- classical operetta and obscure metal bands with names like - mass of brutal acts of humanicide or- Unnormal violation of nuclear skulls, to the random mainstream earwigs that make you wish you were deaf yet still hum along to regardless. 

''oh oh OH! Stop right here!'' Stiles out of nowhere slaps his hand repeatedly against the car dashboard. Derek slows down, looking to where Stiles is pointing. A small second hand clothing store. Derek gives it a frown. 

''What? I can't just go looking like this, can i? It's going to attract attention.'' Stiles motions down on himself, referring to the clothes he's wearing. 

''Have you ever been to Las Vegas? Everyone is drunk.. or drugged, or just insane. Or a tourist. Nobody cares about what you're wearing.''

Now Stiles is sulking again. That pouty bottom lip is basically like wolfsbane for the Alpha. ''Derek, i have literally no clothes and i can't just keep wearing yours.'' 

Derek wants to ask- why not? like an idiot. His wolf enjoys seeing the Omega in his shirt after all, but Derek knows Stiles is right.

In the large shop window of the store-front are old mannequins- without wigs and the paint on their faces peeling. The lady inside startles in place at the sound of the bell when he and Stiles come through the door. She laughs over her spook and puts on the spectacles she has hanging from around her neck on a long pearl necklace, to get a better look.

Blinking at them, eyes magnified behind the glasses. ''Usually i don't get customers this early in the day. You two looking for something specific?''

''No need, we'll just take a look around.'' Stiles assures her before disappearing behind a rack of sequin dresses and horse harnesses.

Stiles comes out of the changing room in a stride as if on a runway. 

The first thing Derek notices is the cowboy hat. 

The Omega is wearing a- i heart Las Vegas shirt in traffic cone orange and a pair of leo-print pants that look too tight to ever be considered decent. As if all that wasn't enough he also picked out a black fake-fur vest and a pair of cowboy boots to go with everything. Derek is absolutely speechless. It is a hundred degrees out and Stiles is wearing a fake-fur vest.

The Omega squats down- so far that it makes the pattern of the tacky leo-print pants stretch obscenely over his legs and butt. Derek tries very hard not to look - like some creep, but his wolf is making it really hard on him.

''What. is. this?'' The Alpha waves his hand in the direction of the car crash of an outfit.

''Camouflage, so i blend in.'' Stiles responds. Derek frowns.

''Don't worry Sourwolf, the other stuff i picked out is less extravagant.'' 

Extravagant, the Omega says. Derek can feel a tendon in his neck jump. ''Don't call me Sourwolf.''

''Want me to bag this for you as well darling?'' The store lady motions towards Stiles' Cowboy get up. 

''Nah, i'll wear it out.'' Stiles tells her while looking at the jewelry on display. He grabs a large rhinestone choker and puts it on. 

The longer Derek looks at him- the more obnoxious the outfit becomes. Stiles looks like he walked straight out someones drug induced nightmare. Yet he doesn't even hesitate to tuck out his credit card when seeing Stiles fumbling with a hand of crumpled dollar bills, sulking because he didn't have enough to pay for everything.

Arriving at the Las Vegas Strip is a sensory shock for Derek. The lights are too bright, the car horns deafening, after having spent so long on roads through the desert this was overwhelming. The Alpha glances over to the passenger seat, Stiles has his face nearly pressed glued against the window, taking it all in. Marjorie in one hand and his phone in the other, the shutter sound of the camera app sounding every now and then. 

They make their way by foot. Derek's phone rings and he takes the call. ''Yes, Peter. We just arrived. We're in front of the MGM Grand.'' Derek sighs and turns, just to see Stiles gone. Stiles was gone, again.

''Peter.. i fucking lost him again.'' 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles has no actual explanation for how he managed to get from New York to paris, he only remembers the ride with this group of australian tourists in a stretch-limo. It might be the passive inhalation of marijuana fumes or- simply his heat brain that had his mind struggling for answers.

For some reason people keep asking if they can take pictures with him, and he does, because why not?

He might be totally lost but he can just call Derek, right? Staring at his phone screen, now realizing, he doesn't have Derek's number. The Alpha never gave him his number. Stiles get's upset. This is like high school all over again. 

His phone rings in hand and he picks up. it might be Derek.

''It's me.'' Stiles can feel his face scrunch up in confusion. He has literally no clue who the creepy electronically distorted voice could possibly belong to. The person on the other end of the line must have realized that as well. ''Al!g80rrr.. from the- Omega's for rights forum?'' 

Stiles snaps his fingers when it finally clicks. ''You! YOU! Du- shi- fu- Aaarrrgh!'' The people around are watching him kick and flail his arms, they applaud, probably thinking it is a street performance. ''It was you, wasn't it? The one who send those guys to murder my ass!'' 

''No! I didn't, please believe me. I'm trying my best to divert them but it isn't that easy.'' Darth Vader tells him. 

''What is it you want, Anakin?''

''We need to talk - face to face. Meet me at Pepe's hotdogs and taquitos at 14th street northwest- Washington DC, i'm there every evening at around seven. Also- your dad wants to talk with you, so i'm gonna connect you both now.'' What? Before Stiles can say anything there is a click and suddenly his father's voice booms through the speaker, so loud Stiles has to hold the thing away from his ear.

''Stiles? Stiles! finally you're picking up! Where the hell are you? Do you know that national security is looking for you everywhere? What have you done this time?''

''Dad!? H-hi- i.. i didn't do nothing, i don't even know what you mean.'' 

''..Why don't i believe you.'' Oh no, he's talking in his stern father voice.

Stiles groans a long, loud- ugh, into the phone. Eyes rolling so hard into his head he made himself dizzy. ''Ok. I might have done some- thing but i'm not a terrori-'' just as he turns, Stiles walks right into someone. Graceful as he is he falls and lands right on his ass. He can feel and hear something in the back of his pants tear. well, that probably wasn't good. 

Still on the ground he looks up annoyed and sees the guy he crashed into standing there. Handsome creep is probably the best way Stiles could describe him. The guy's whole attitude screams Alpha, but there was something off about it. Like he was trying too hard to pass as one - so much so it was kinda obvious he wasn't an Alpha at all. 

Stiles has rarely in his life seen someone make a double take. the stranger stares at him for a long moment, before looking him up and down - and then, just bursts out laughing. A snorting, sputtering sound of genuine, unbridled amusement. The dude's laughing so hard he's actually choking. 

Unsure of what to do Stiles looks around, hoping someone would com help him but everyone was intently ignoring them, even walking faster while passing by them. 

This guy could be drunk or high off his mind, and Stiles is debating on whether or not to just walk away or actually try and help this guy to a hospital - preferably whichever of those options will not end in Stiles getting stabbed with a infected junky needle or rusty crack spoon. 

But the guy doesn't look much like a junky, dressed in a sleek stylish suit, shoes and watch that look expensive. Yes, in comparison Stiles is the one who must look like the crazy person. That still gave that dude no right to be this rude about it.

Standing up with an offended huff, dusting himself off, Stiles turns on his heel ready to march off - before he is grabbed by his shoulder, not too hard but enough to keep him from running.

''N-no wait, wait. I- i'm fine. Please forgive my outburst.'' Is what the guy might be saying, but he is still trying to not choke. ''I'm Peter. Derek's uncle?'' 

''Ah! Hello, i'm Stiles.'' 

''Yes, i know.'' Peter says, voice still trembling with laughter, then he abruptly goes silent, face shocked. Peter leans back surveying the damage. ''oh.'' is all he says. 

Stiles can feel the fleshy squish of his asscheek bulging out through the tear in his pants. ''I'ts fine, i'm just.. embarrassed.'' 

''Well then.'' Peter claps his hands. ''I bet you're hungry, yes? You have to tell me everything about how you and Derek met and the things that have happened on your way here.''

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The headwaiter by the entrance to the fancy restaurant gives Stiles a look that was kind of really rude. Though, considering the way he is dressed and by now in full heat - makes it kind of understandable that he's reluctant to let Stiles in. 

Stiles has enough decency to walk so- he isn't actually flashing everyone around him. Fake-fur vest low on his shoulders so it can cover up the worst. Relieved once they are actually seated and Stiles can hide his shame into the plush cushion of the seat. 

He orders a crab-cocktail for starter, because all day long he has had this craving for shrimps, and tells Peter about Derek and their journey here as he eats his appetizer. 

''Oh. There is Derek,'' stiles spots the Alpha's eyebrows just as they come in through the entrance. Jumping up from his seat he waves, shouting Derek's name to guide him in their direction.

Derek stomps over to their table, looking grouchier and grumpier than before Stiles has lost him earlier. The Alpha fixes his uncle with a scowl but Peter just keeps swiveling the wine in his glass, undeterred. 

''Hello nephew. I have already made myself acquainted with your soulmate. He's actually quite charming.''

Stiles nearly chokes on a shrimp. He sputters, Marie Rose sauce dripping down his chin. ''SOULMATE!?''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not really fan of the whole; 'cock-hungry-Omega-zombie heat thing', nor that others (Alphas) go all boner-town because of it. 
> 
> So- heats in my A/B/O universe are more like... public farting. It is a natural body function and not necessarily harmful, but just kinda rude and uncomfortable for everyone around. Which is why most people only let it out around those who are close to them. (◐ω◑ )..
> 
> Anyways- what do you think? Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ＼＿ﾍ(ﾟ- ﾟ, ) i have no idea for a chapter title... anyways- new chapter!!! Hope you like it. ༼ ⍢ ༽

''Soulmate!? You actually want to make me believe i'm Sourwolf's Soulmate!?''

Stiles has a clue of what a Soulmate is.. kinda, sort of. Not much is usually known about Werewolfs and their nature or their customs. People are aware they exist, but they might as well not- for most folk actually never get to meet or even see one in their life. That Soulmate-thing though? Is a pretty big deal. It is basically the only thing the general public sure does know. 

Yes, being a Werewolf's Soulmate- meant you are gonna get Werewolf dick.

Peter obnoxiously fake gasps, hand on his chest holding nonexistent pearls, and turns to look at Derek- aghast, ever so slightly shaking his head at the Alpha in a show of disappointment. ''Dearest nephew, you mean to tell me you have not told him? At least that would explain why he doesn't smell marked yet.'' 

''Marked?'' Stiles cautiously asks, wiping the sauce from his chin with a nervously trembling hand. Was Peter talking about that neck-biting thing? Stiles sure hopes he's not, cause that shit sounds really scary.

Peter's smile is a little too wide when he faces the Omega, teeth neat and white and way too many of them, reminding Stiles of a shark that smells blood in the water - like the one in finding nemo. ''What i mean is- he hasn't peed on you yet, to mark his territory, you know?'' 

''Pee!?'' Stiles squawks- a little too loud, his fork clatters to the ground and he nearly falls off the chair, the ruckus attracting the attention of pretty much everyone around and making them even more so the center of attention.

''Of course. You sure must know that many animals do that, wolfs are no different.''

The Omega's brain short circuits for a moment, before firing back up when Derek's way too large hand comes down on the table with a bang; rattling the dishes hard enough to tip Stiles' crab-cocktail over, spilling shrimps everywhere. Stiles watches the points of the Alpha's claws scratching deep grooves into the polished wood beneath, and the table cloth tearing like tissue paper in his grip. 

''Stop telling him this shit Peter, he's going to actually believe it.'' Derek snarls through enlongated fangs, then spins his head and fixes Stiles with a glare. ''We don't pee on others, Stiles. I will not pee on you.''

Relaxing back into his seat, Stiles is relieved knowing that he won't get peed on.. and maybe a little bit disappointed - just a tiny bit. Head swimming, all of this just now was too much agitation for his already heat fried brain. Stiles feels hot and bothered, and wonders if it might be the fake-fur west. He has to cool down or he's going to get a heat stroke.

Geting up from his seat, cringing, he can feel the tear in the back of his pants give a little more. He should probably change clothes- else half of his ass will be hanging out in the open by the end of the evening. 

Derek quickly gets onto his feet as well, trying to follow but Stiles holds him back, stemming his hand against the Alpha - absentmindedly letting his fingers trace over the contours of Derek's abs through the thin cotton of the shirt, before pushing him back into the chair. 

''I'll just be a minute. Gonna go freshen up.'' Stiles announces to the table, patting Derek's head with a silent- good boy, before leaving in search for the rest rooms.

Stiles never before has been to a place so fancy that it had it's own valet in the bathrooms - nor one that played classical music- Pergolesi, he thinks but isn't sure, head too filled with cotton. Unknowledgeable of proper toilet etiquette Stiles decides to simply nod his head towards the Beta man in the fancy suit, in silent greeting. The guy doesn't even blink an eye in response. 

Well, that's awkward. 

Is it really that bad? Stiles wonders and tries sniffing at himself as discretely as possible, and scrunches his nose at the first whiff.

He fucking smells. 

Heat-scent neutralizer sprays are a damn scam. Maybe he should have actually listened to Derek and bought the pricey one instead of the no-name option for three bucks. But how was he supposed to know that? the smiling lady on the packaging looked very convincing; that's called false advertisement, so- it technically isn't even Stiles' fault.

Finally daring to look at himself in the mirror- and seeing the extent of how much of a hot mess he is, all flushed and sweaty, pupils blown out. Stiles looks like someone who's tripping - very hard, and snorts out a laugh at his reflection, cause dude looks whack. 

Glancing back towards the guy on the chair in the corner, who hasn't really moved yet but was still staring at Stiles like a damn creep for some reason. Omega instincts ringing like alarm bells in the back of his head, telling him to get away as fast as possible and look for Derek; to leave, to run - now.

But Stiles is tangled, stuck in place, can't help but count over and over the small hand towels stacked in little rolls atop each other in a pyramid shape on a tray right beside the guy. There are nine of them, and it kinda really bothers him that there isn't one at the very top of the stack. Maybe someone went to the washroom and used it right before Stiles came in - or maybe they just went for a South-American style of pyramid instead of egyptian?

Still hung up on his thoughts about pyramids, he turns the tap as cold as possible, letting his hands soak in the cold water until they start prickling. Stiles splashes some water into his face and neck and unavoidably making a mess. He got the floor wet and now feels bad, because the guy here- that apparently can't stand him already- now has to mop that up. 

He sighs tiredly, pressing the heels of his hands into his aching eyes, rubbing so hard he starts seeing blue stars.

Stiles only catches a glimpse in the mirror and sees the guy suddenly standing right behind him, before he's already fighting against a choke hold. 

The attacker is tall, tall enough to have the Omega helplessly kicking with his feet off the ground. Every time Stiles gets the guy in the shin- the crook of the Beta's elbow tightens around his neck in retaliation, making the rhinestone choker bite deeper into the skin of Stiles throat.

Ah, there is the missing towel from the stack, Stiles thinks; it's soaked in chloroform and trying to fucking knock him out. Struggling even harder in the guy's grip, frantically whipping his head away from the towel the Beta is trying to press against his face, hoping he can maybe headbutt the man in the nose. 

In a scramble of wildly flailing limbs, Stiles actually manages to stomp his cowboy boots up on top the marble counter of the sink, pulling in one knee tight he kicks backwards as hard as he can, just his luck - he hits the guy right in the crotch. 

With a pained groan and squeaking shoes the attacker slips on the wet floor and falls to his knees in a crash, the arms around Stiles neck come lose enough to finally allow him to breathe again - heaving and coughing Stiles wrestles himself out of the guy's arms, who easily let's go of the Omega to cradle his balls instead. 

Stiles is shaking like crazy, he tries but can't get onto his feet, legs like jello beneath him. Looking around, frustrated, he spots the chloroform rag on the ground and goes for it, crawling towards the thing on all fours. Reaching out, Stiles throws himself forward and can pinch the corner of the towel just as he's grabbed by one ankle and yanked back, dragged across the floor. 

The guy is real fucking scary now, looking hella pissed off, face red and the pulsing vein on his giant forehead looking ready to pop. The Beta smacks Stiles so hard in the face his head whips back against the tile floor, making his vision spin, mouth filling with blood - he bit his tongue and it freaking hurts.

If Stiles loses consciousness now he'll be done for. 

Teeth grit against the pain Stiles claws for the guy's head nearly scratching the dude's eyes out while he's already at it. Hand wrapping tight in the Beta's hair he pulls that sucker into a headlock, and mushes the towel against that angry face of his, fingers digging in to make sure that thing stays pressed tight, ready to stuff it down the guy's throat if necessary.  
Grappling on the ground trying to wind his arms and legs around the Beta tight enough to keep him in place. Stiles is hurting and he's nauseous and he wants to just cry as he barely manages to hold out against the struggling man in his grip. 

He sobs- exhausted, when the guy finally slumps against him, falling heavy on top.

Not a second later the door flies open with a loud bang and - yea, Stiles is full on crying now, so fucking done with today. Furiously kicking and screaming, desperately trying to get out from underneath the unconscious man atop- when the bulk is thrown off him. 

Slapping and punching blindly against whoever it is that's trying to grab him - and belatedly realizing it's Derek.. with comically concerned looking eyebrows. Stiles goes still and watches the Alpha fumbling around like the giant closet-dork he is, hovering over him, hands fidgeting midair unsure of what to do with them. 

He pats the Omega's shoulder awkwardly, probably trying to be comforting. He isn't. Stiles only starts crying harder, curling in on himself on the cold wet floor. Yea, Derek freaking sucks at comforting, and O Quam Tristis- softly playing from the speakers doesn't help either.

It is not before Stiles sounding like he's about to choke on his own sobs that Derek finally takes him into a hug. Sitting in Derek's lap feels nice, Stiles thinks, as he just sits there- trying not to let his heat-befuddled brain convince him to sink his face into the Alpha's armpit.

Stiles didn't even realize he was purring until a low crooning rumble jostles him from his headspace, the Alpha's chest vibrating against his cheek. Derek is padded and vibrates like a damn massage chair. Stiles always wanted one. It's so nice, he just wants to stay like this forever.

''How did they find us this fast? How did they even know we are in here?''

Stiles heat-drunk brain decides right now is the best time to remind him of all the photos he has been taking with the dozens of random strangers on the street earlier. Maybe he shouldn't have done that, considering national security is looking for him. 

Stiles cringes, mentally preparing to tell the Alpha about it- when Stiles can't help but stare dumbly at Derek pulling his phone out, and watches the screen as the Alpha unlocks it. 

He can't believe he hasn't realized it sooner; Derek's fucking phone!

Snatching the thing out of the Alpha's hands, Stiles starts going through it. ''You have been using your phone all this time? Without a VPN!?'' he practically yells, tears long forgotten, and while he's at it- ''And your password is your own name and birthday? Are you serious?'' Stiles might be the type of person that tapes up their laptop and phone-cams, but there are good reasons for that.

It only gets worse from there. This is a disaster. ''You have not updated your phone since last year? You don't even have a antivirus software on it.. What's your problem?''

Derek shrugs one bulky shoulder, dismissive. ''It works just fine except for the occasional notification.''

Stiles rolls his eyes so hard he can see his brain. For the longest time he believed his dad to be the least tech-savvy person in existense. Well, he was wrong. 

''That's not the issue! They've been tracking us through your phone Derek, that's the problem! Central Intelligence Agency hacks smartphones, computers and smart- TVs, fridges and toasters to spy on citizens and others around the world. The CIA is able to access phones directly, bypassing encryption. This means they can install keyloggers or other surveillance tools directly onto user devices, intercepting communication at the source.'' 

Derek's face looks like a cross between constipation and an aneurysm. Stiles facepalms. 

''What i'm trying to say is- even taking great precautions, the government will manage to spy on you one way or another. Argent has the connections to track and find us, and you just made it real easy for him to do so.''

There is a long silence between them, Derek's eyebrows furrowed in a way that Stiles can't really decipher.

''Why have you decided to go after Argent? Why did you put yourself knowingly in danger?'' Is this overgrown chernobyl escapee actually serious? 

''Have you heard about the new Omega Bill? Health care restrictions, sexual- and reproductive controls. He wants to get us chipped. Do i look like a pet dog to you, Derek? We already live in a surveillance state, but he wants people to give up all autonomy; he wants people controlled. This is a lot bigger than 'I have nothing to hide', or Big Brother watching you take a damn shit in your own home. This needs to be stopped, don't you see?'' 

He sighs, exhausted, the combination of having to deal with Derek being a complete tech inept, all the while being heat dizzy- robbing him of his life force. ''At least you don't have any social media.''

\----

The Alpha's eyes linger on the irritated and chafed skin of Stiles neck, the indents the collar left look painful. He had taken some of the Omega's pain just now when he held him, but still his fingers twitched with the need to make sure his Soulmate was no longer hurting.

Stiles is trying his best to disarm the unconscious man, nearly taking the guy's pants off in the process. ''If that guy would have wanted to kill me he could have done it easily. He's practically armed to the teeth. So why did he try and drug me instead?'' 

Derek isn't sure if this is a rhetorical question.

Stiles rolls his eyes. ''They don't actually want me dead. That's why.'' Finally having unclasped the gun-holster from the Beta's belt- Stiles decides to just throw the thing. 

Leaping forward, Derek snatches it before it can hit the ground. ''Don't just throw a loaded gun, are you crazy!?'' 

Ignoring Derek, he continues on. ''Killing me wouldn't make sense, because they need someone to blame, right? The fanatic Omega terrorist who manipulated state documents and tried to sabotage Argent's election campaign seems pretty convenient. Argent isn't trying to do damage control by making me disappear, this whole thing is already too big to simply sweep under the rug.''

Stiles takes out his phone to show Derek a chat log- the Alpha can make no sense of. The orthography is atrocious, and why are there so many silly pictures of cucumbers?

''The person who send me all those documents about Argent- contacted me earlier. They want to meet me.''

''And what do we do now? E-mail them?'' 

Stiles looks utterly devastated for a moment. ''E-mail? Derek, only old people and pedophiles send E-mails.''

\----

Peter is meeting up with one of his informants in Bellagio, he and Stiles in the meanwhile wait for him to return by the casino. The Omega entertaining himself with the slot machine, feeding the thing chip after chip and trying to get five of the same fruit in a row, but never succeeding- of course. Those things are rigged.

''Do you think we can trust them?'' Derek asks, just as Stiles is throwing in another plastic chip. ''We don't know who they are or what their goal is. Meeting up with them might be a trap.''

Stiles pulls the lever and watches the fruits spin. ''What else can we do? We don't have any better plan.'' 

Derek has a dozen, most of which include leaving the country and getting his Soulmate as far as possible away from Gerard. ''How did you actually find each other?'' 

''There's this thing called the dark web, most angry Omegas who have something to say lurk there.''

The slot machine comes to a stop. The thing dings shrilly and there's a loud explosion. Derek jumps up from the stool ready to throw himself over Stiles when.. golden confetti starts raining down from the ceiling. The Alpha looks back to the machine and sees five Watermelons with the word Jackpot written on them lining up on the display

''JACKPOT!''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek be like: Ok, let's try and not attract any unwanted attention  
> Stiles be like: Ok. *attracts all the attention* 
> 
> This chapter kinda kicked my ass, not gonna lie (ᇂ_ᇂ||). Haha! Tell me what you think. 
> 
> Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i knew exactly what i wanted to happen this chapter but it was just really difficult for me to actually write it out, yea.. (◞‸◟；) this took quiet a while, i just hope you enjoy reading.

''JACKPOT!'' Derek sees- rather than hears Stiles shout, the Omega's voice is hardly audible to him over the continuous shrill siren ringing- coming from the slot machine. The damned noise thumping against Derek's ears, pounding inside his skull- so loud, it feels as if his head would burst.

Attracted by the commotion and the heaps of shiny confetti, people from all around the casino begin to slowly gather around them, quickly forming a large bustling crowd.

The throng of onlookers, and now Kool & The Gang heavily booming from the speakers above oppressively, pushing the Alpha's wolf- already on edge- even further.

Derek's eyes instinctively fix on to the shiny dome of a balding, heavy-set man in an obnoxious and much too tight golden sequin suit, accompanied by two women in just as tight and equally glittery dresses, making their way through the crowd that by now- had Derek and Stiles completely surrounded from all sides.

Without hesitation, mouthfull of brilliant veneers on display, the man in the sequin suit walks right up to Stiles and grabs the Omega's shoulder with a meaty hand to pull him closer.

Derek can't suppress the growl that crawls up his throat at the action. The violent urge to bite the man's hand off- for daring to touch his Soulmate, his in heat Omega, rampaging beneath the Werewolf's human facade, clawing, barely contained by the Alpha's person suit.

The clipped, dog-like, snarling sounds have grown loud enough for Stiles to pick up on - even over the bustle of the people around them and- Celebration playing overhead.

The Omega looks at him, wide eyed and brows pinched, concern on his face. Stiles' mouth opens, looking like he is just about to say something, but he is interrupted by the fat bald guy - whose hand is still a little too securely anchored on to Stiles' shoulder, the hairy knuckles of his fingers white with the force he is holding the Omega in place with.

''Congratulations! You- young man, have just won - one HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!''

The crowd around them cheer with so much enthusiasm it is as if it was them who had just won the prize.

''Wait, what? SERIOUSLY!?'' Stiles sounds baffled, and whirls around to face Derek again, brows raised- as if asking him if that was true. ''I thought the Jackpot was a year long supply of Fritos. That's what i've read on the prize board.''

Derek too- is kind of perplexed, because Stiles had showed him the prize board, insisting he wanted to play the slot machines in hopes of winning the snacks.

The smile on the man in the golden sequin suit falters for but a second, before he put it back on- tighter and much more fake than before. ''Well my friend, for a hundred thousand you can get alot of Fritos.'' His voice as well- feels off, Derek thinks as he watches a pearl of sweat run down the man's neck and disappear into the much too tight starched collar of his shirt.

There is something wrong- about all of this, but all the noise around is making it hard to think straight - making it hard to think at all.

A default cellphone ringtone chimes, cutting through the noise. The sound is coming from Stiles' leo print pants' pocket, the one just above the large tear in the back. The Omega dances in place, struggling for a second trying to shimmy the phone out of his pants because- yes, the pants are that tight.

Distracted- looking at his phone-screen, Stiles is easily letting himself be steered away by the fat sweaty man, away from Derek. The Alpha can feel his wolf raging, snapping, when he sees someone else approaching his Omega, a somehow familiar looking man- smartly dressed in black, the outlines of a bulletproof vest visible beneath his dress shirt.

It is now- that Derek takes notice of all the other conspicuous people scattered among the crowd. Eyes frantically darting from one to another, counting seven, eight- nine..

Stile's voice cuts through the clamor, drowning out everything else. ''You won't believe what just happened.'' The Omega says excited- to whoever is on the other end of the line.

Derek can hear the echo of an electronically distorted voice crackling through the phone speaker; saying - run.

Stiles halts. ''Wh- what do you-?''

Run. Get away there. Now!

The glint of a gun in the light of the chandeliers above catches Derek's attention, all of his focus- instantly zeroed in on it.

The man presses the muzzle hard into Stiles' back. Derek can hear the Omega's breath hitch, heart palpitate.

''You can either come quietly- or you will come kicking and screaming.''

The scent of Stiles' fear burns on his tongue, in his lungs. And Derek-

Derek snaps.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles feels the cold, hard edge of the muzzle of a gun against his back. The man standing right behind him- holding it.. is startlingly familiar.

Because it's the dude that had just assaulted him in the restaurant rest room, looking even angrier than before, the big- throbbing vein on the guy's forehead looking just about ready to pop.

For a dangerous second - Stiles' thinks that maybe he should have just shot the guy when he had the chance, then at least he wouldn't have to deal with this right now.

Easy to spot and strategically positioned amongst the crowd of hawaii-shirt and sandals n' socks wearing tourists, and the tousled looking gambling addicts, are the dude's friends. All of them- with their eyes trained on Stiles.

Mr. angry Frontal vein here- leans in closer, close enough to whisper into the Omega's ear. ''You can either come quietly- or you will come kicking and screaming.'' Stiles shivers, the guy's breath feels hot and gross against his skin.

He's so fucking tired of today.

Derek suddenly attacking the man, makes the crowd startle, but it is the gunshot echoing through the casino that makes everything break out into chaos. People are screaming. Scurrying like roaches, practically trampling over each other trying to get away.

Stiles though- is rooted in place, fascinated and horrified, as he watches Derek morph into this.. thing, and rip Angry-forhead's throat out - with his teeth; killing him and three other men in rapid succession.

No, not killing, mauling. With claws and teeth, and the kind of bestial rage one would only expect from some demented rabid animal.

White noise, a low droning in his head growing louder with each clangor of a gunshot echoing around him. A static buzz, accompanied by a shrill ringing and then deafening silence.

It's as if he's underwater, steadily sinking, further away from the surface. Drowning.

It is only when someone bumps their shoulder into Stiles' that he emerges again, the sound returning with the same sensation as clogged ears popping free, and for a moment- the Omega is completely disoriented in the mayhem around him.

In the center of all this madness is Derek, fully shifted, looking like a jet-black nightmare, hovering over a man on the ground emptying the magazine of his gun into the werewolf.

Derek doesn't flinch, doesn't even seem to feel the bullets.

Stiles truly has no sense of self-preservation, because- before he knows it - he is approaching the thing that Derek has turned into.

No, really. It's almost as if Stiles actually wants to die.

He has gone completely insane, he must have, he thinks- just as he is about to reach out and touch. Derek turns his head to face him, blood red eyes knifing him. Stiles feels his stomach sink.

The Werewolf jumps on him and Stiles screams, naturally, as he is tackled to the ground.

Heart about to beat out of his chest, breath stuck in his throat- threatening to choke him, Stiles stares up at the decorative plaster ceiling and glittering chandelier above in wide eyed terror. Fingers digging into the fine fibers of the carpet beneath him, holding on to fists full of golden confetti.

It feels like hours are passing by, when in actuality- it might just be a few seconds.

Stiles takes a deep shaky breath. Then another.

And another.

Stiles has to admit- he's a little surprised that he isn't getting all of his squishy inside bits ripped out of him right now.

''I can't even leave for five minutes, can i?'' Peter's voice echoes from half across the casino floor. He sounds neither shocked or horrified by the splatter film set the place has turned into; he only sounds annoyed, scraping the guy- he accidentally stepped into- off of his fancy leather dress shoes on the carpet, and taking another look at the massacre around - before finally looking at Derek.

''You made a mess.'' Peter says. ''Don't you carry a gun? You know how this will look like, right? The media will have a field day with this. The pack doesn't need any more trouble, you know that.''

Peter sounds as if he's reprimanding a child for something trivial, not a full grown Alpha Werewolf for killing a dozen people with his bare fangs and claws.

Even though Derek's eyes are still shining vivid Alpha red, face half shifted, fangs and claws still out - he looks thoroughly chastised.

The sight of Derek, looking like a giant scolded child- makes Stiles nearly burst out laughing, not out of amusement, but as some sort of uncontrolable nervous reaction.

The Omega looks down at his shaking hands, cramped and sweaty. Bloody. Lump sitting heavy in his throat, stomach churning. Stiles is confident that if he'd dare open his mouth right now- he would surely throw up.

He had seen Derek kill alot of people over the past two days, but this was different- somehow. This made Stiles realize what some of these anti-Lycan fanatics on the internet meant- when they referred to Werewolfs as.. monsters.

''Scared of him now, aren't you?'' Peter's voice pulls Stiles out of his thoughts. It isn't even really a question, more of a curious observation.

Stiles doesn't know how to respond, doesn't know if he's even supposed to. His eyes dart towards Derek- who's already watching him, the Alpha's face inscrutable, eyebrows unreadable, but Stiles is sure Derek is expecting an answer.

He can't bring himself to say anything, so he opts for just shrugging one shoulder. That's good, right? Just shrugging a shoulder is ambiguous, it could practically mean anything.

Peter stares at him, uncomfortably long, as if searching for something. ''The Moongoddess; your christian god, or any other religious figure- is only as real as you make them - as you believe them to be, and so are Soulmates. There is no supernatural cosmic force that brings two people together the way Derek believes.'' He tells Stiles with a vague hand gesture people use when trying to explain something. ''There is nothing that's ultimately tying you to him. You can leave whenever you want, just remember that, ok?''

It takes him a moment to swallow what Peter had just said, and it takes even longer before Stiles can bring himself to look at Derek.

The Alpha looks like he just had been slapped and spit on, but Stiles guesses that such is to be expected when someone tells you that your god is fake- and all your believes are wrong. Stiles feels bad for him.

Peter tho, seems entirely unapologetic about it.

''I will have to stay and try to clean this mess up,'' Peter says with a sigh, brushing off invisible dust from his tailored suit. ''but you two must leave. Now.''

Stiles looks back and forth between Derek and Peter. ''So- does that mean i didn't actually win a hundred thousand dollars? Nor the Fritos?''

\----

When Stiles first catches the scene from the view of his peripheral he doesn't think much of it. But now looking at it head on, seeing his own face looking back at him from the large advertising screen, feels surreal. He never would have thought he'd end up on a giant billboard- but there he is.

Alongside his photo is a composite sketch of what can only be Derek, even tho they got his nose wrong- the Alpha's scowl and brows are unmistakable. A live feed showing police and state security making their way through the streets of Las Vegas in search for them; alleged domestic terrorists charged with- Coordinated conspiracy against State and Senate, illegal publication of confidential State documents, government employee assassination and use of explosives, all of which catapults them to #1 on FBI's most wanted list.

He's so done for. There is no way his dad is ever going to let him live this down.

''How are we going to get out of the city when everyone is looking for us?'' Ever overactive brain spinning so quickly- that Stiles is getting dizzy, or- maybe it might be because he is actually spinning in place. Yea, he should probably stop doing that. ''Oh, OH!'' Nearly toppling over Stiles snaps his fingers at Derek at the sudden realization that- ''I know a guy.''

Derek just quirks a brow at that, so he goes on. ''Yeah, Cheezcracker, he's one of those molepeople that live in the drainage tunnels beneath the city, ya know?''

The Alpha's large hand on his forhead startles him. Derek's deep frown- emanating genuine concern. ''You don't seem to have a heat fever.''

Stiles rolls his eyes. ''He's a part of the OFF-forum i told you about, he lives in the tunnels cause it makes tracking him harder. He believes the earth is flat but he has practically the whole of Las Vegas strip under surveillance, he can help us get out of here.''

Dancing around trying to get his phone out of his back pocket, he types and sends a quick text, hoping he would get a response. A few seconds later- he does.

Stiles spins on his heel and takes off pointedly into one direction, ending up in the hotel's employee parking lot. Just beside some dumpsters- a flashlight is shining out of a manhole in the ground. Stiles tentatively peers inside, and sees an old man in a Shrek2-logo Tshirt with no pants on down there, waving for them to get in.

Just as Stiles is about to climb down- Derek grabs him by the arm and yanks him back again.

''You can't be serious. That guy looks like a lunatic.. and he's clearly on drugs.'' The Alpha hisses between clenched teeth, cautiously peeking into the manhole where Cheezcracker is still waving at them.

''I admit he smells a little funky but- no one who likes Shrek2, one of the greatest masterpieces to have ever been made, can possibly be a bad person,'' Taking the Alpha's ridiculously large hand in his- and giving it a reassuring squeeze. ''Trust me.''

Yea, Derek is right, Cheezcracker is obviously clinically insane and drugged out of his mind- judging by him telling them to be carefull and not to step on the Smurfs running around as they make their way through the tunnel, but Stiles has expected as much already, the only thing he is genuinely surprised about is that the guy isn't wearing a tinfoil hat like in his profile picture.

They are invited behind a rubber-ducky print shower curtain where there's a battered armchair and all of Cheez' equipment, powered by several car-batteries- precariously towered on all kinds of random things like- milk crates and cereal boxes. The floor is littered by empty energy drink cans and ramen noodle wrappers that clang and crinkle beneath their feet.

Derek frowns at the setup. Stiles can't fault him for that, it does look like a safety hazard.

''You said you can help us.''

Cheezcracker gives a twitchy nod. ''Will get you two out of here no problemo, don't worry.'' he assures, offering them both some cold ramen noodles in a styrofoam cup. Stiles is ready to take some- if only to be polite, but Derek declines for the both of them, saying that they have just had dinner.

''And how?'' Stiles asks.

''Can you believe there are still no security measures on traffic lights and road signs here?'' Cheezcracker complains, waving about and spilling some of the noodles from the cup in hand. ''So- let's just hope your boyfriend here is a good driver.''

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

''How is this supposed to work again?'' Derek asks, nervously looking up in the rear-view mirror, watching the troop of sleek black 4x4s steadily gaining on them.

Distracted by Argent's hunters practically snapping at their heels, and Stiles' russian darkwave mix blaring - Derek nearly drives into someone crossing the street, just barely swerving the homeless lady and her shopping cart.

Stiles is entirely unaware that they almost hit a person just now, typing away on his laptop.

''Digital traffic control systems are generally unencrypted and easily accessable over the internet and their sensors. The plan is- getting out of the city as fast as possible and manipulate some signs and lights to get them jammed in traffic for a couple of hours - if we're lucky enough. Get a head start.'' The Omega explains, face illuminated by the screen he is focused on.

Hitting that enter key with ardour- Stiles looks up, eyes wide and smiling at him. ''On the next intersection you want to floor it. Try not to crash us, ok?''

Derek does as told and not a second later two cars right behind them crash into each other, hitting a third and ending in a mass collision of at least ten vehicles almost towered over each other.

Stiles is contorted on his seat, looking over the back- at the mess of crashed cars behind them. ''Oops.'' He says, face in a pained grimace. ''Let's just hope no one is hurt.''

\----

The Omega has the passenger seat as far back as it goes, back rest slightly reclined. One of his bare feet is on the dashboard, the pterodactyls on the bandages on his toes glowing faint green in the dark. With the window rolled down, cool night airstream lifting Stiles shirt, allowing glimpses of bare flesh, it is hard to concentrate on the road ahead.

Derek's nose flares. He is unable to stop himself from taking in deeper and deeper breaths. Stiles smells sweet and clean, like home. Like his.. but he isn't.

''What did your uncle mean with.. Soulmates are only as real- as you believe them to be?'' Stiles voice is a whisper, almost drowned out by the car radio slightly bleeding static sound. ''What should i believe?'' The Omega licks over his lips, bitten raw, almost bloody. He must have been pondering about this for a while now.

Derek looks up at the full moon lighting the stretch of dark desert highway before them. He almost hopes the answer would simply fall out of the sky, because he doesn't really know what to say. ''Peter lost his faith- when he lost his soulmate.'' He keeps his eyes on the road, the points of his claws pricking into the steering wheel in his hands.

''I- i don't want to lose mine as well.'' He's too scared to look at Stiles, and see the Omega's expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am i making Argent's hunters too incompetent? Kinda, right? Haha! Might actually make it a little harder for Derek and Stiles in the next chapters- who knows.. (¬､¬)
> 
> Anyway! Check out my other Sterek fic; .fox hunt. if you haven't already. ٩(๑∂▿∂๑)۶♡
> 
> Let me know what you think. Kudos, comments and critique are appreaciated!!!

**Author's Note:**

> So~ What do you think?  
> yea.. i made Stiles short and Derek toll cause i think it's funny (and hot) sue me.
> 
> kudos, comments and critique are appreciated.


End file.
